Close Encounters
by Phx
Summary: Sequel to 'First Impressions'. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. SupernaturalHardy Boys crossover. The Winchesters are a bit younger in this story.
1. Chapter 1

**Supernatural/ Hardy Boys crossover. You don't need to be familiar with the Hardy Boys to enjoy the story. Please let me know what you think! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

**Chapter 1**

"Stop it," eighteen-year-old Frank Hardy groused as his brother navigated their van along the dark winding road just outside their home town of Bayport, New York.

"Stop what?" Joe was the picture of innocence as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

The brothers had been at their friend Chet Morton's family farm helping out all day. Chet's father was recovering from day surgery and appreciated the brothers' assistance, repaying their kindness with an old fashioned late autumn barbeque. Now, just after ten on a Saturday night, the two teens were on their way home.

"You know what," his brother countered, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at his blond-haired brother's profile.

"Okay," Joe shrugged, but couldn't erase the smirk from his face.

Frank continued to glare and after a moment spoke again. "You're still doing it."

"Doing what?" The smirk was now a full grown grin.

"You're smirking."

Joe laughed, "Oh yeah, I am." He glanced across at his older sibling. "Oh come on, Frank. You have to give me this! How many times do I do something stupid, that you told me not to, and then I'm fodder for weeks? This is just so novel – you got to let me bask in it for a little bit."

Frank sighed. The lengths he would go to for his brother. Exhaling heavily he slouched in the seat. "Fine."

"Don't take it so hard, bro," Joe consoled. "I can only say 'I told you so', so many times, right?"

His brother scowled and turned his attention out the side window, though there was not much to see. This section of road ran through a wooded area and except for a few old houses and farms, was pretty much devoid of scenery at this hour of night.

"I mean, it's not like I didn't yell at you to duck! Geez Frank, we really need to work on your listening skills," Joe goaded.

Frank huffed. "Whatever. And how the hell was I supposed to know that you and Chet were involved in some demented crap shoot!" His choice of words started Joe howling as that was exactly what Joe and Chet had been doing – flinging cow poop. They were supposed to be mucking out the barn….Frank got caught in the 'crossfire'.

"The next time I yell 'get down', do us both a favor," Joe waved at the air in front of his nose dramatically, "and get down!" He glanced at his simmering sibling. "You really do smell bad."

"I took a shower," the older teen growled, unable to find anything mirthful about the whole event. And if it wasn't bad enough, the dung had been warm. Fresh. Yuck.

"Take another one," the younger boy suggested, "cause Mom ain't going to appreciate your kind of country fresh."

"Joe," Frank was glaring so hard now that his two eyebrows made one. "Shut up."

Joe grinned but wisely enough, didn't say anything, choosing instead to concentrate on driving and fiddling with the dial on the van stereo until he found something he liked to listen to. Beside him, Frank rubbed his face wearily. He couldn't remember the drive home from Chet's house ever taking so long before.

…

Frank had almost nodded off, his eyes closed and his body relaxed, when he heard Joe mutter a curse...and then the van just died.

"What's up?" he asked around a yawn, as he stretched his long 6'1" frame out in the seat and eyed his now frowning brother.

Joe scowled. "No idea. One minute everything was fine, then the radio went all weird, all the lights started to flicker and then everything just died." The seventeen-year-old undid his seatbelt and shoved open the door to get out, snagging the hood release on his way out.

"What do you mean, the radio went all weird?" Frank asked, grabbing the flashlight from the glove compartment and then following his brother. He had no intention of letting Joe stand on the side of a dark, desolate highway all by himself. That is not how the young sleuths worked.

"It got staticky," Joe elaborated, yanking up the hood and putting the bar in place to keep it up. He pulled out a small pocket light and shone it over the silent engine, trying to spot the trouble as Frank shone his flashlight around, on alert for the first sign of trouble. Vehicle problems were not always as innocent as they might seem.

"See anything?" Frank asked, keeping his back to Joe's. He grimaced as he heard a bit of colorful muttering. "I'll take that as a no, then."

After a few more moments, Joe straightened up and clicked off his light. He sighed and rubbed at an itch on his cheek distractedly. "I dunno. I don't see anything…but I just don't know."

Slamming the hood closed, he turned around and looked at Frank. "We'd better call Mom and tell her we'll be late. Maybe Dad's home already and he can give us a lift or something."

Frank and Joe's father, detective Fenton Hardy, had been away since Monday but was expected back sometime this weekend.

"Yeah….Maybe," Frank agreed and then watched as his brother fished out his cell phone and dialed. After a moment, Joe turned a perplexed look on him.

"Nothing's happening," he admitted.

The dark-haired boy frowned. "Do you have power?"

"Two bars," Joe said, passing the phone to his brother so Frank could see for himself.

"That's good," the older teen admitted, "for you." He ignored the dirty look the blond boy threw him. Pursing his lips Frank pulled out his own cell phone and tried it but he had the exact same problem as Joe. Nothing happened. '_That's odd,'_ he thought, _'we're in a reception zone.' _

"I don't know," he finally acquiesced, knowing Joe was waiting for some sort of explanation from him. Frank usually had one but this time he was baffled. "There must be something in the area messing with the signal or something."

"Yeah," Joe glanced around a bit nervously and the older boy couldn't help but tease.

"Isn't this the part of the movie where we hear a rustling around us or something?"

"Cut the crap, Frank." The younger boy wasn't in the mood for levity as he started to get a very bad feeling. Something wasn't right.

Frank gave him an odd look but when he spoke, his voice had lost all trace of humor, replaced by concern, "What's wrong, Joe?"

"I don't know," the blond teen said, lowering his voice; he started to move towards the van door again. "But something just seems off…"

Frank glanced at Joe and then hastened his own way back to the van. One thing he knew for certain about his brother, Joe's intuition could set clocks. If his brother was feeling that something was up, then there was a very chilling chance that he was right.

"What do you want to do?" The dark-haired brother lowered his voice as he slid into his seat and turned towards the other boy.

Even in the darkness, Frank could see Joe worry his lip as he thought. Then an odd look crossed his face, he put his key back into the van ignition, turned it and the vehicle roared to life.

Frank started to ask but Joe cut him off. "I don't know, bro – I just got this strong feeling that if I started the van now, it would work."

"Okay," Frank tried not to sound as unsettled as he felt. "Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth and get the hell out of here."

"I'm on it." Joe eased the gear into DRIVE, pressed on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb, sighing in relief to be finally on their way again.

They had barely driven ten feet when a dark figure lurched onto the road!

"JOE!" Frank yelled as he braced his hands on the dash. Joe, seeing the person at the exact same time, slammed on the brakes and the van skidded to a rocking halt.

After a moment, Joe swallowed hard and glanced at his brother. "Did we hit him?"

"I don't know," Frank admitted, already unbuckling his seatbelt. He met Joe at the front of the van and they panned their flashlight beams around the road until Frank found the person, lying face down on the road.

"Oh shit!" Joe whispered as he quickly crouched down by the man and pressed two fingers against the side of his throat, grimacing at the slickness he felt. _Please…please…please…YES!_ "He's alive!" he told his older brother after finding a strong and steady pulse. Thank goodness.

"I'd better call 911," Frank said, pulling out his cell phone again and hoping for better luck this time. He had gotten as far as 9-1, when a soft groan made him pause. The person was waking up.

"Easy there," Joe said to the man, who was stubbornly trying to push himself onto his hands and knees. "You're hurt."

"M'okay," the man protested, sounding anything but as he swayed slightly. "No hospital," he mumbled, having obviously heard that part of the conversation.

"You're bleeding," the blond Hardy stated the obvious, worried that he had hit the man with the van.

The man leaned over, pressing his head against the road and cursed. "Shit."

"Mister?" Joe exchanged an anxious glance with Frank. This guy must have a head injury or something – but before he could say anything else, the man pushed up to his knees and turned towards them, his hazel eyes surprisingly coherent and determined.

Frank gasped as he recognized the person immediately. He had only met the young man once, but this was not someone anyone would easily forget.

"Dean Winchester?" he breathed. "What the hell are you doing here?" He paused and glanced around taking in a notable absence. "And where is Sam?"

**Next chapter: Saturday**


	2. Chapter 2

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_Frank gasped as he recognized the person immediately. He had only met the young man once, but this was not someone anyone would easily forget._

"_Dean Winchester?" he breathed. "What the hell are you doing here?" He paused and glanced around taking in a notable absence. "And where is Sam?"_

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

**Chapter 2**

For one long moment the twenty-year-old young man just stared at the dark haired older Hardy like he was speaking gibberish, and then Dean spun around so quickly, he almost lost his balance, and he blinked hard to keep the world in focus.

Forcing himself to his feet, and glaring off Joe's steadying hand, Dean cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed, "Sam? _Sammy?_" His voice, deepened by worry, echoed around them, but there was no answering cry. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath and then turned sharply to the two young men watching him. "Are you sure you didn't see him? He was right in front of me—" he glanced around again, "He has to be here. SAM!"

Frank swallowed hard at the tincture of panic he recognized in Dean's voice. It was one that had held his company only a couple of nights ago when Joe had vanished during a warehouse stakeout. Mimicking the older man, Frank added his own voice, "Sam? It's Frank. Frank Hardy!" Joe raised an eyebrow and his brother shrugged, "it can't hurt."

Dean made a move to go back into the darkened trees; Frank blocked him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean growled, trying to step past the other boy but getting blocked again.

"You can't go running off half cocked—" Frank tried to explain quickly, as he remembered that Dean usually came armed. He and Joe had first run into the young man and his younger brother two nights ago, after the Winchesters had found an abducted Joe in an old house they were 'hunting' in.

"Why not?" Dean demanded, "it's worked so well for me in the past."

"Do you even have a flashlight?" the other boy challenged.

Dean looked at him like he was nuts and then shone his light directly in Frank's face. Frank raised his arm to protect his eyes as the older man snorted indignantly. "Do I look like some friggin' amateur or something? Of course I have a flashlight!"

"Yeah, well, light or no light, you're not going to do your brother any good if you suddenly topple over," the dark-haired sleuth shot back, his exasperation getting the better of him. This was like dealing with Joe…only darker.

The demon hunter stared blankly at him and Frank waved a hand towards the other man's head. "Your head….Bleeding."

Frowning, Dean reached up to touch the gash on his forehead, only now realizing he _was_ bleeding. Dismissively he wiped the blood off on his pants. "It's a flesh wound. Now move or be moved." He made a motion towards Frank to make his point. "Look. Sam is my kid brother. He's my responsibility – I've got to find him!"

"I understand," Frank empathized, still not moving. At 6'1, he stood almost an inch taller than Dean. The hunter was close enough that the younger sleuth could smell garlic and stale onions on his breath. Pizza he guessed, feeling somewhat vindicated when he saw Dean wrinkle up his own nose and take an inadvertent step back, "trust me, I do but—"

The older boy cut him off coldly. "No, Frank. You don't." For one brief moment an intense emotion flittered across his face and then it was gone. "_Move_."

"Joe," Frank turned to his brother for help. He was counting on the younger boy to back him up on this. Dean was injured, and without a plan he could very well spend all night walking in circles, and if Sam was injured...No, they needed to convince Dean to wait at the van while they looked. He and Joe had plenty of experience in searches and would work more quickly and efficiently if they didn't have to worry about Dean.

Frank felt a creeping chill shiver fingers down his spine when he didn't see his tow-headed sibling right away. He hurried to the van. Maybe Joe had gone back inside…

But he wasn't there either.

Frank turned to Dean, hoping the hunter had an answer, but the other man just shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea where Joe was either. He had just been standing there….Biting back his unease, the older Hardy tried calling out once again, "Hey, Joe? Where are you?"

Joe never answered. He was just gone.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "_Now_ can we run off half cocked?"

The eighteen-year-old swallowed hard, the darkness surrounding them almost suffocating. It was as if the night had just suddenly consumed his brother, and he felt sick.

Slowly Frank nodded; it looked like they had their plan.

Above them a dark cloud bank moved in ominously and the young sleuth scowled. Great. Just what they needed. A storm. This just kept getting better.

Following Dean in through the trees, Frank stiffened when the twenty-year-old added. "And try to stay down wind from me, huh? 'Cause Frankie boy, you just plain stink!"

Frank glowered. "The name is Frank. Frankie is a chubby twelve year old."

…

Ahead of him, Dean's step faltered but he said nothing.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sixteen-year-old Sam Winchester was tired. The muscles in his legs burned, his lungs demanded oxygen, and tree branches slapped and cut at his face as he barreled through the dark forest intent on keeping up with his older brother.

Damn Dean and his longer legs!

And how exactly did Dean get ahead of him anyway? He was supposed to be behind Sam…

The Winchester brothers were still in Bayport. They had gone back to the old house to make sure the pesky poltergeist their father had sent them to take care of while he worked a more dangerous gig upstate, was gone. Only to find out that while _it_ was gone, there was something a hell of a lot more nasty there now.

His older brother had quickly come to the conclusion that they were out of their league on this one and told Sam to run, practically shoving the younger boy out of the house, down the rickety old steps and towards the forest.

Their 1967, jet black Chevy Impala was parked on the road on the other side of the trees and Dean told him to not look back and hightail his skinny little-brother ass for the car. So Sam had done just that, with Dean crashing and cursing through the brush a few seconds behind him.

And that is when it happened: Dean had gone from being behind him to being in front of him, and called after Sam to follow, veering sharply to the right as he led him away from the house and the enraged wraith that had moved in.

Sam had started to protest, pretty sure that the car was in the other direction, when he'd tripped over a root sticking out of the ground and gone sprawling ungracefully head over heels, landing with a painful thump that briefly knocked the wind out of him as he lay on his back and looked up.

He might have considered the sky above a pretty sight if he wasn't supposed to be running for his life right then.

Swallowing hard, Sam winced as he pulled himself to his feet; Dean's voice was still urging him to hurry up and 'come this way'.

Limping slightly as he moved, the young hunter called out to his brother to wait; his plea broke off in a surprised yelp when the world just suddenly dropped out from beneath him as the trees and brush ended on the top of a rocky precipice, about fifteen feet from the bottom of a gully.

His arms pin wheeled frantically, grasping for leverage as Sam tried to keep from falling. His flailing hands brushed a slender limb of an overhanging tree and he tightened his grip, gasping in relief as it stopped his forward momentum.

"Shit," he whispered, afraid to move for a moment, and then before he could move back from the edge, a hard shove in the back sent him falling forward and he tumbled over the edge and down the rocky slope.

Halfway down, he mercifully lost consciousness….

**Next chaper: Tuesday**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review :) **

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_His arms pin wheeled frantically grasping for leverage as Sam tried to stop from falling. His flailing hands brushed a slender limb of an overhanging tree and he tightened his grip, gasping in relief as he tightened his grip and stopped his forward momentum._

"_Shit," he whispered afraid to move for a moment and then before he could move back from the edge, a hard shove in the back sent him falling forward and he tumbled over the edge and down the rocky slope._

_Halfway down, he mercifully lost consciousness…_

**Chapter 3**

Seventeen-year old Joe Hardy shook his head as he moved through the darkened trees, his little flashlight bobbing and weaving a light in the darkness. Overhead the rain-heavy clouds moved to obscure what meager help the moon might have been.

"Stupid heads," he groused thinking of his older brother and Dean. They were at loggerheads, and the blond teen refused to stand around another second waiting for them to break the impasse. '_Too much alike, if you ask me,'_ he thought as he kept sharp ears on the late night noises around him. That thought sent a quirky smile to his handsome young face. He could just imagine the horror if Frank ever made _that_ connection, himself.

It wasn't that Frank didn't like the older Winchester brother, after all, they had only met once before and even that had been a brief encounter – not enough to really build up any intensity of emotion – but there was just something about Dean that sent all of Frank's most basic instincts into a tailspin.

Joe wasn't quite sure what it was but figured it might have something to do with the rawness of Dean's personality; that man reeked 'primal'. Whatever it was, it would be humorous under different circumstances to watch Frank around Dean, but not right now. Not when Sam was missing…

And definitely not when Joe had a very bad feeling that if they didn't find the youngest Winchester soon, they'd be too late.

"Too late for what, though?" he griped quietly as he tried to follow the trail Dean had blazed during his frenzied flight through the brush. "Talk about cliché."

Stopping to take stock of the area, Joe frowned and thought about Sam. There was something about the sixteen year old that endeared him to the blond-haired Hardy; maybe a kindred spirit or something. Regardless of what it was, he had taken an immediate liking to the kid – heightened by the fact that Sam had been the one to find him in the closet of that old house – and increased his anxiety to find him.

"Kindred spirit, huh?" Joe pursed his lips. "Okay then….If it was me, running around in these old woods, where would I end up?"

His gaze flickered away from the direction Dean had come. He tilted his head and tapped his chin. It was a long shot, but maybe…

Glancing behind him and seeing no sign of his brother or Dean, Joe made a decision and veered off the 'beaten' path. He had a good idea where Sam might just be. The only problem was, he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. 'Cause if he was there…he'd definitely be hurting.

Cupping his hand over his mouth, he yelled "SAM!", listened for a moment and then hurried on.

There was no time to waste.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"SAMMY!"

"JOE!"

"SAMMY!"

"JOE!"

Dean stopped so abruptly that Frank almost walked into him.

"What?" the older Hardy demanded when his companion turned around and fixed him with a glare.

"If you keep shouting '_Joe_', after every time that I shout '_Sammy_', how the hell am I supposed to hear him yelling back?"

Frank just blinked at him, intensifying the scowl on Dean's face.

"I bet he hates being called 'Sammy'," Frank finally said and then pushed past Dean and took the lead.

"I bet he hates being called 'Sammy'," Dean mimicked as he followed.

"JOE! HEY!" Frank abruptly turned around. "Did you just throw something at me?"

Dean looked innocent. "Who, me?" He smirked and pushed by Frank once again taking the lead. He tossed a pinecone at the other boy as he passed.

"You're impossible," Frank muttered, letting the older man lead the way.

"So I've been told," Dean deadpanned and then shouted for his brother again. This time Frank didn't call after Joe. Dean had had a point; with all their yelling, they'd have never heard their brothers.

"What are you guys doing out here anyway?" Frank asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Hunting," Dean stated bluntly, suddenly putting out his arm to stop Frank.

"_What?"_ The dark-haired Hardy pressed to see what Dean was looking at, instantly seeing the same thing – a second trail.

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean muttered as he glanced around. "Why the hell did you go this way?" He scrubbed a hand across his face and then looked at Frank. "He was lured away."

"Lured away?" He watched the hunter. "You sure?"

The older man nodded curtly and Frank was treated to a brief glimpse of concern before Dean masked it. "Sam's too good to just veer off like that. My car is just up from where you found me – that is where we were heading. Sam's got a good sense of direction…if he went there—" he pointed at the trail, minuscule but enough for trained eyes to see, "something made him."

Frank ran a hand through his hair. "It could be Joe's," he reminded Dean.

Dean regarded him oddly. "It could be…" he finally admitted and then shrugged. "But…"

"But either way, it's one of our brothers," Frank finished for him, surprised by a quick and approving smile from Dean.

The young sleuth started to move forward when Dean's hand darted out and snagged his jacket. He sighed, hating the competitiveness that loomed between them. It wasn't like him to feel so 'threatened' by someone he hardly knew and he inwardly chided himself for behaving so out of character. But there was just something about Dean. "What now?"

Dean didn't say anything. Instead, he tucked the flashlight under his arm and then half twisted, pulling a small-caliber handgun out of the small of his back, where it had been tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

Frank's eyes widened, although he had no idea why he was surprised. The last time he'd seen Dean, the older man had been toting a shotgun.

"Just in case," Dean supplied, flashlight now in his other hand – the one NOT carrying a gun. "Whatever sent my brother going the wrong way, is still around."

Swallowing hard, as a brief memory of his first meeting with Dean flashed to the forefront of his mind, Frank followed quietly. He still had no idea what that thing had been that had attacked him and Dean in the house.

But it had been something.

As the two older brothers moved almost silently through the darkness, each hoped it was their own sibling at the end of the trail.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam lay on his back at the bottom of the gully, too afraid to move for the moment. He had no idea how badly he was hurt, he just knew he _was_ hurt.

'_This…really…sucks…'_ he thought with emphasis. And then a sharp crack of thunder preceded a heavy downpour of frigid rain, and the sixteen year old knew he now had no choice. He was going to have to move.

Shivering against the cold, he braced himself, started to move and then promptly threw up.

'_Crap.'_

That had hurt.

**Next chapter: Friday**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you everyone who has taken the time to read and review. As the story progresses you will find out more about the Hardys (or Winchesters if you are a Hardy fan) - I hope you will continue to enjoy! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_Sam lay on his back at the bottom of the gully, too afraid to move for the moment. He had no idea how badly he was hurt, he just knew he was hurt._

'_This…really…sucks…' he thought with emphasis. And then a sharp crack of thunder preceded a heavy downpour of frigid rain, and the sixteen year old knew he now had no choice. He was going to have to move._

_Shivering against the cold, he braced himself, started to move and then promptly threw up._

'_Crap.'_

_That had hurt._

**Chapter 4**

As soon as Joe felt the first fat raindrop he knew he had to hurry.

A small creek, nestled at the bottom of a rocky-sloped gully, cut a winding path through the adjacent countryside, and that is where he was hoping to find Sam.

However, the increasingly heavy rain complicated things and augmented the danger as that same gully ran through the Mortons' farmland, and Joe knew from experience it was subject to flash flooding.

So if Sam _was_ there, he needed to be found, quickly.

Picking up his pace, Joe raced against the storm.

OoooooOOOOOOoooooo

"You have _got_ to be kidding," Dean grumbled as the first rumble of thunder heralded a cold, driving rain. He pulled the collar up on his jacket and glanced over his shoulder at Frank.

Solemn-faced, the dark-haired eighteen year old looked just about as pleased as Dean.

"I hate rain," the hunter continued. "It makes things…wet. And not in the way I like 'em," he added with a chuckle.

Frank snorted softly but said nothing.

Pausing long enough to call out to Sam again, Dean continued traipsing through the dark, and now increasingly wet, brush.

"I hate the cold too," Dean felt like sharing as he shivered slightly before pulling his jacket closed. "And the dark."

"Is there anything you _do_ like?" Frank finally asked. He couldn't help but think that this guy liked to talk just to hear himself speak. Kinda like Joe actually, which is probably why it wasn't bothering him as much as a few other things about Dean did – like that handgun he was still carrying.

"As a matter of fact, there is," Dean turned and smirked. "I like sex. Actually, scratch that, I love sex!"

Frank's eyes widened in shock at _that_ rather personal comment and he felt the beginning of a migraine coming on. This night just kept getting longer.

Seemingly oblivious to the young detective's discomfort, Dean continued, using the gun to push the wet tree limbs out of his way. "Oh, and my car. I love my car. And this jacket." He suddenly just stopped and turned around slowly to give the other boy a very good look. "This jacket has charisma. I love my jacket."

His smirk widened, "It's a good 'getting laid' jacket." He scrutinized Frank then and added thoughtfully, "you might want to consider getting one…I got a feeling a guy like you could use any edge he can get."

Frank's jaw actually dropped open. He gaped, too indignant to come up with a reply for a moment.

Dean shrugged, turned around and continued on along the trail. Behind him, Frank worked very hard not to pick up something and bash the other man over the head with it…

'_You couldn't have just run over him, huh, Joe?'_ the teen mentally groused as he continued to follow Dean, encasing his increasing worry with irritation.

Pausing to do up his coat, Frank shivered and then hurried to catch up. He scoffed at Dean's observation. "Like I need a 'getting laid' coat," he griped. "I do just fine without one, I'll have him know."

In front of him, Dean heard the comment and chuckled. For some unexplainable reason, he loved tormenting Frank. It was like having a Sammy-substitute or something…

Sammy… 

Swallowing hard as he thought about his brother, Dean narrowed his eyes in determination and continued walking. _'Hang on, Sammy,_' he thought, _'I'm coming_.'

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

'_Bruised ribs'_, Sam decided when he had finished retching, letting his hurting body slump back onto the ground, '_are a bitch'._ He didn't think any were broken but they certainly did hurt, driving slivers of pain through his body with every breath. And heaving against them had been something he'd just as soon never experience again. The pain had almost been bad enough to drive him into unconsciousness again.

Sam didn't think he was concussed. Sure, his head hurt, and he had just thrown up, but he'd had enough concussions to be pretty confident that he didn't have one now. However, he did hurt, and in more places than he cared to admit. His whole body ached and right now he was unable to narrow it down anymore than that.

Taking a moment to compose himself before trying to get up again, Sam stifled a groan. Dean was going to kill him. Yup. Life as he knew it would be over.

And his father…

Sam closed his eyes; his cheek pressed against the cold and wet ground. He sighed heavily. His father was never going to let him go on a hunt with just Dean again.

"This sucks," he whispered, sniffling and moving his hand to wipe at his wet face. Man, even his hand hurt.

The sixteen year old had just resigned himself to a second attempt at getting up when a cold, familiar feeling prickled at the hair on the back of his neck.

Sam knew this feeling, and urgency flooded him as fear forced adrenaline past the pain. He had to get up. And he had to do it _now_.

The boy was being watched.

But before he could get any further Sam felt a sweeping chill brush against his face, burning as it touched. He tried to jerk away but the touch, hot against his skin, curled around his chin and gripped tightly, forcing him to look up.

Sam tried to cry out, to scream, to do something but he couldn't. He could hardly even breathe.

The wraith was here.

Next update: Monday


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you everyone for taking the time to read and review. And if you are not familiar with the Hardy boys, please bare with me as you will find out more about them as the story progresses. Let it suffice for me to say that the demon magnet Sam has rivals the trouble magnet Joe was born with and think of it this way, you know them as well as Dean and Sam know them. :P Let me know what you think!

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_The boy was being watched._

_But before he could get any further Sam felt a sweeping chill brush against his face, burning as it touched. He tried to jerk away but the touch, hot against his skin, curled around his chin and gripped tightly, forcing him to look up. _

_Sam tried to cry out, to scream, to do something but he couldn't. He could hardly even breathe._

_The wraith was here._

**Chapter 5**

"I do have a girlfriend, you know," Frank felt compelled to supply as he followed Dean. His dark eyes scanned the wet woods, constantly on the lookout for any sign of his or Dean's wayward brother as he tried to ignore the cold rain that soaked and chilled him to the bone.

The further they followed this trail, the more concerned he became; an anxiousness increased by the suffocating silence around them. They should have at least heard Joe calling for Sam or something…

Dean grinned as he continued to walk but didn't say anything.

"She's pretty damn hot too, if I do say so myself," Frank added, all the while wondering where this was coming from. It was like his mouth had been hijacked by a nerdy fourteen year old. "Her name is Callie. Smoking hot….Burning down the house kinda -"

"Okay, enough with the fire analogies," Dean interrupted, "I got a thing about burning."

"Oh really?" Frank teased, sensing a chink in '_Mr. Too Cool to be Anywhere near You_'s' armor. "And what's that?"

Dean stopped, turned around and looked at Frank; fleeting pain crossed his face – a raw moment of vulnerability that raced goose bumps across the Hardy boy's flesh. "My Mom – mine and Sam's" he amended, his face softened with fleeting affection. "She died in a fire when Sammy was a baby." He paused and then added, gruffly, "Now come on, I gotta find my brother."

Stunned, Frank just followed.

'_Their mother was dead? Killed in a fire?'_ Thinking about his own mom sent an ache twisting through his heart. That was horrible…

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Dean stiffened but never replied.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe hurried towards the edge of the gully; he just knew he'd find the young hunter down there.

"Sam?" He yelled as he approached the edge, slowing down so that he wouldn't fall over. Carefully, he sidestepped and half slid down the incline, unable to see if the younger teen was down there or not yet because of the darkness and rain.

Rocks skittered beneath his sneakers as he absently hoped, that if Sam _was_ down here, he'd be okay enough to walk back up himself, 'cause if not, this could be a problem.

Tripping as he finally got the bottom of the gully, Joe glanced around and then started to run as he saw a hunched-over figure about a hundred feet down from him.

Sam.

…

Sam's body trembled beneath the wraith's assault as agony sliced through his mind. He could hear the creature whispering something but he couldn't focus past the pain – it wanted something from him…

And then abruptly, the wraith just released him and was gone.

Slumping back to the ground, Sam barely closed his eyes when he heard someone calling his name.

"Dean?" he whispered, forcing his eyes open and blinking blurrily at the person hurrying towards him. No, it wasn't Dean. It was someone else.

"_Sam?_"

The someone dropped to his knees next to Sam and the teen felt gentle hands on his shoulders. Again the voice.

"_Are you okay?"_

The voice was familiar.

"_Sam. Look at me."_

He tried – honestly he did, but the pain in his head was brutal and he groaned and tried to pull away. The voice was too loud.

"_Come on Sam, can you hear me?"_

Sam forced his head up and gazed into the most brilliant pair of blue eyes. Sapphires? He blinked and the person's face finally came into focus. "Joe?" he rasped, recognizing the teen he'd found trussed up in a closet only a few nights ago. It felt like a lifetime ago now…

A wide smile answered his question, though heavy concern lingered on the face. "In the flesh."

Sam watched as Joe quickly scanned him, assessing him – it reminded him of Dean. He knew the question before it was even asked. "What hurts?"

"Oh man…" Sam tried to give the blond teen a smile. "Ask me…what doesn't…"

Joe chuckled softly. "Fair enough." Still keeping a steadying grip on Sam's shoulders, the young sleuth glanced around. "Can you walk?" he asked, scrutinizing the ravine for the easiest way up.

"Maybe," Sam offered tentatively, really having no idea but then when he tried to shift, he changed his mind. "Maybe…not."

The blond teen pursed his lips. "Can you try? I'll help."

Slowly Sam nodded and then asked, "Where's Dean?" He shifted his gaze expectantly but Joe seemed to be alone. That started a whole series of questions that the young hunter didn't have the energy to voice, made all the more apparent when his battered body started to shiver violently.

Joe frowned and then crouched, gingerly pulling one of Sam's arms across his broad shoulders. "He's looking for you. Now come on – you can't stay here."

Sam stifled a groan and closed his eyes as the other teen slowly hefted him to his feet, keeping a steadying grip on his wet jacket as he did so.

An intense wave of vertigo almost sent the young hunter to his knees again, but Joe – as if sensing the impending – had the good sense not to try and move him again yet.

After a few long moments, Joe pressed, "You ready to move again?"

Sam winced as he took in a steadying breath. _Damn ribs_. "'Kay," he finally mumbled, his body's need to rest viciously asserting itself.

The first step made Sam hiss in pain and when Joe glanced at him, he gasped. "I'm okay." The older boy didn't look too convinced but continued to move anyway.

It was very slow going. With Joe's help, Sam was walking but just barely and the worst was yet to come. They had to climb.

…

"W-where's-s D-Dean?" Sam shivered as he asked again and Joe looked sharply at him. The kid already looked terrible. His face, and what Joe could see of Sam's body, was bruised, cut or scraped, but now the older teen was worried that the hunter might also have a concussion. Sam seemed confused.

"He's looking for you," Joe reminded him, masking his concern as the lanky body leaning against him continued to shiver violently. Add hypothermia to that growing list of concerns…

"O-oh."

They reached the bottom of the incline and looked up. It seemed all the more daunting in the dark and rain.

Sam groaned and sagged against Joe. "Y-you g-g-gotta b-b-e kid-d-ding."

Joe flashed him a sympathetic look. "It looks worse than it really is."

The look Sam shot him told the blond sleuth the kid wasn't buying it but before he could offer anything else, a peculiar smell made him wrinkle up his nose. _Sulfur?_

Beside him, the younger boy tensed and the next thing Joe knew he was being slammed into the side of the rocky slope, his head hitting hard.

"_JOE!"_

He heard Sam yell his name…

Then a shot!

Then nothing…

Joe was out cold.

Next chapter: Thursday


	6. Chapter 6

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_The look Sam shot him told the blond sleuth, the kid wasn't buying it but before he could offer anything else, a peculiar smell made him wrinkle up his nose. Sulfur?_

_Beside him, the younger boy tensed and the next thing Joe knew he was being slammed into the side of the rocky slope, his head hitting hard._

"_JOE!"_

_He heard Sam yell his name… _

_Then a shot!_

**Chapter 6**

Dean was worried.

He hated being worried. He didn't do 'worried' good at all – Sam did 'worried' good.

In fact, Sam was the better worrier all the way around, because an anxious Sam was a rambling Sam; an anxious Dean was a killer…spirit, siren, werewolf, he wasn't particular about his prey, but usually the nastier the thing was to begin with, the better off he felt afterwards.

Yup, nothing like shooting a pesky ghostie-poo right in its hiney-poo to make the twenty year old happy…. Unfortunately right now though, he had nothing to shoot, and no little brother to annoy.

And he'd have even bigger problems if Dean didn't find Sam and if his brother wasn't all right. The 'bigger problem' was just over six feet tall, hated to eat anything that didn't used to have a face, and went by the name John Winchester, AKA 'Daddy'. (Though not technically, since Dean was eight years old and two older boys had 'informed him' that only girls called their fathers 'Daddy'…. So right after Dean sent the mini-thugs home crying for their mommies, he dropped the 'dy' and John became 'Dad'.)

Oh, yeah. Their father and demon hunting legend was going to be pissed, and with good reason. Dean had lost his brother.

Wiping the rain off his face and wincing as his hand brushed over the still-throbbing gash on his forehead, the young hunter sighed as his hazel eyes kept a sharp lookout for the younger teen. Frank said he understood about him and Sam but Dean knew there was no way he possibly could. No one could.

The bond he and Sam shared might have been born by blood, but it was forged in the fire of their mother's death.

_John Winchester grabbed the crying infant from its crib, hurrying out of the nursery door before four-year-old Dean would see…_

_Thrusting Sammy into Dean's arms he yelled, "Take your brother and get out! Now Dean, go!" While in the room behind him his beautiful wife, her blond hair splayed out around her face, looked down from the ceiling as she burned – an angel on fire…._

_Dean held the baby as he ran. He felt the infant slipping and tightened his grip as he hurried down the stairs and towards the front door of the house. He would not let his Sammy fall…_

_Outside he paused to catch his breath and tried to console his upset brother; gasping out loud when his father swooped him and Sammy up into his strong arms and ran—_

_And then there were only three._

_Mommy was gone…_

_But not Sam._

He had to find his brother.

Periodically Dean would yell Sam's name – and even once or twice Joe's – but mostly he moved almost silently through the miserable woods, cursing just about every twig, leaf and root he came across – he _had_ to find his brother.

God, he hated Mother Nature, and entertained himself with the idea of blasting her with rock-salt if she ever crossed his path. _And why not?_ If the Boogey monster was real, why the heck not her…?

"Dean?" Frank's hushed voice interrupted his unconstructive musing. "I think I heard something."

Instantly the young hunter stopped, his hand tensing on the gun as he cocked his head to the side, trying to drown out the sound of fat rain drops slapping the trees—

"_JOE!"_

And then he was running – Dean Winchester would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Sam.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Unable to stand on his own, Sam crumbled to his knees as soon as Joe went down, catching himself on his hands before he completely sprawled.

"JOE!" he yelled as he fumbled for the small revolver neatly tucked into the back of his jeans, adrenaline pressing him past the pain.

Blinking to try and clear his vision, Sam focused on the wraith hovering over Joe and fired, crying out in pain when the recoil flashed pain up his arm.

He dropped the gun and cradled his wrist. Shit. That had hurt!

The wraith shrieked as it was hit by rock salt and quickly disappeared, but the sixteen year old knew it would be back soon. Depending on the strength of the spirit, the shot might have only bought them a few minutes, at best.

Struggling towards Joe, Sam heaved a sigh of relief when he found a steady pulse thrumming beneath his shaking fingertips. Joe was alive and didn't seem to be hurt too badly, but he _was_ out cold.

Shivering as he glanced up at the rocky slope, the younger teen let out a weary sigh. It was only fifteen feet, but with the way he was feeling right now, it might as well have been one hundred and fifteen. There was no way he'd be able to drag or carry Joe up. He strongly doubted he'd be able to get himself to the top.

Sam needed to rouse Joe.

As the younger boy placed his hand on the blond's shoulder to give him a gentle shake, Sam felt a familiar prickly sensation and slowly turned, already knowing the wraith would be behind them.

Damn.

Carefully he moved to position himself between it and the unconscious sleuth, his movements increasingly hampered as he kept visual contact with the spirit.

The gun was in reach—

Sam prepared himself to make the move. To grab the gun and fire...but he never got the chance.

"Yo, bitch," a familiar voice shouted from above him. Sam couldn't help but smile. "Keep your hands off my Cocoa Puffs!"

Dean was here.

A second later Dean fired and then he and Frank were sliding down the slope towards their brothers.

Sam sagged back in relief as the wraith, once again, was gone. He looked up as his brother crouched down in front of him and gave a weary lop-sided smile, trying to relieve the anxiety he saw on his older brother's face. "A-a-about t-t-t-time," he shivered.

Dean smirked, clearly pleased that Sam had the strength to bitch. "Don't blame me," he retorted and then indicated Frank who was similarly crouched down assessing his own brother. Joe groaned slightly as his sternum was rubbed. "But Frankie there had to get his hair done first."

Frank just shook his head.

Sam had something smart to say in the dark-haired Hardy's defense, but before he could get a single word out, his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

next chap: sunday


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you for your continuing support for this story. And don't worry, it is not over yet - not anywhere yet actually, lol! And a special note to a reviewer who mentioned my use of 'good' where is should have been 'well'. Yup, I know what is grammatically correct, however people do not always think grammatically correct and it was Dean musing. So I purposefully used 'good'. I do that sometimes but thanks for keeping me on my toes. In the future though, can you please sign in to make comments like that so I can reply more personally:)_

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_Dean smirked, clearly pleased that Sam had the strength to bitch. "Don't blame me," he retorted and then indicated Frank who was similarly crouched down assessing his own brother. Joe groaned slightly as his sternum was rubbed. "But Frankie there had to get his hair done first."_

_Frank just shook his head._

_Sam had something smart to say in the dark haired Hardy's defense, but before he could get a single word out, his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out._

**Chapter 7**

For an instant when Joe awoke he thought he was in some nightmare version of his life. His head was hurting, he was cold, heavy rain smacked him in the face and the person looming over him, close enough to kiss, was definitely _not_ Lucy Lawless.

And the smell—

"Ugh," he groaned, pushing his brother away, "I'm 'kay."

"Yeah, you sound like it," Frank groused, his dark hair plastered unflatteringly against his forehead. He reached up to push it out of his eyes and it was hard to miss the genuine concern burning in his dark eyes. "What hurts?"

"How 'bout, my pride—?" the blond teen asked as he slowly sat up, grimacing as the wet ground pressed against his already soggy bottom. "For starters…" His hand went to the back of his head, gently massaging at a tender spot.

"What happened?" Frank asked, his eyes glancing towards a still unconscious Sam and then back at Joe.

"Well," Joe fixed him with a lop-sided grin, "I found Sam."

Beside them, Dean chuckled but kept his head down as he ran his hands lightly over his brother's prone body, assessing for injury.

"State the obvious," Frank grumbled and then spoke up. "I mean what happened just now? Or did consciousness just no longer agree with you?"

Joe looked at his brother oddly for a moment as he realized he really had no idea what had happened. One minute he was helping Sam – _Sam!_ Quickly he turned towards Dean, his blue eyes clouded with concern. "Is he okay?"

Dean glanced up and gave a curt nod. "I think so." He frowned when he ran his hands across Sam's ribs and the younger boy moaned lightly and curled away from him. "He's gonna hurt in the morning though."

"Uh…hello," Frank interjected regaining his brother's attention before he repeated. "What happened?"

Joe shrugged and started to stand, thankful when Frank moved with him and then grabbed an arm to keep him steady, when the blond teen wavered slightly. Man his head hurt. "I don't know, Frank. One minute we were just here and then next – whammo! Lights out time for Joe."

The dark-haired teen turned a wary eye on the younger Winchester. He lowered his voice, "Did—" he glanced at Joe and then back towards Sam, "Did Sam hit you or something?"

"Excuse me?" The icy tone in Dean's voice as he straightened up and glared directly at Frank told the Hardys he had overheard. Joe made a mental note, for future reference, that Dean had very good hearing…. "Just what exactly are you insinuating? My brother doesn't just 'hit' people – now me—" he rolled his shoulders and then cricked his neck. His hazel eyes locked onto the two boys and his tone dropped to a warning growl. "I'm something entirely different."

"Whoa!" Joe burst in, sensing his brother tense; the last thing they needed right now was trouble. "Take it easy – the both of you!" He looked pointedly at Frank, easily recognizing an overprotective big brother in Dean, if there ever was one – it actually, eerily enough, reminded him of his own sibling... "_Sam_ didn't hit me! No one hit me…" Joe paused and then added, a thoughtful look on his face. "Not that I saw, anyway – speaking of which, what'd you guys see when you got here?"

"Not much, thanks to Rambo there," Frank admitted. "He heard Sam yell and took off like a bat out of hell. I hit the top of the ridge _after_ he fired…" the dark haired teen scowled as he faced the hunter. "Speaking of which – what were you shooting at?"

An unreadable look passed Dean's face and then he shrugged and dropped down beside his brother again. "Nothing – just letting Sammy know we were here. Now c'mon, enough jawing…my brother needs a warm bed and a half a bottle of aspirin. And I don't know about you boys, but I've had just about enough of freakin' Mother Nature for one night."

Joe nodded in agreement and then looked up at the now muddy slope. He could make out where his brother and Dean had – from the looks of it – mostly slid down. "How do you want to do this?" he deferred to Dean, as it was his younger brother who needed the most help. He didn't like that Sam was still out cold and it egged up his concussion concern. "Should we even be moving him, though? Not that we can stay here," he added as he glanced warily down the gully.

Dean followed his eyes. "What?"

"This ravine is subject to flooding," Frank explained, obviously reading his brother's uneasy look.

"Okay then," the older Winchester decided. "That answers the 'should we be moving him' question…. " He turned his attention back to the slick slope. "Is there maybe an easier place to climb up? I can carry Sam…but not up that."

Having only turned sixteen a few months ago, Sam was still more gangly than muscular, and while Dean was sure he _could_ manage him in a fireman's carry, he wasn't so confident of his footing going up the way he had come down.

"Ummm…" Joe really didn't know. He'd never been down here before – he just knew it was here. And between the darkness and the rain, it was hard to see anything. Reaching down to grab the flashlight that he'd dropped when whatever happened, happened, he admitted with a shrug. "I don't know…Frank?" He turned to his brother for any ideas.

Frank hedged, "We can look, I guess but—" he shrugged too, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Wonderful," he griped, "absolutely freakin' wonderful."

Stooping down, he carefully hauled his unresponsive sibling over his muscular shoulders and slowly stood up. Once he was sure that Sam was secure, he nodded to the other two boys. "Okay, Rick and A.J, led the way."

Frank and Joe looked at him. "Who?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Simon and Simon? An 80's TV detective show?" He snorted and started to walk ahead of them, his flashlight picking out a trail in the storm. "You guys really got to get out more…"

Joe flashed Frank a grin and ran to catch up with Dean. "So who'd I be? Rick or AJ?"

…

Frank shook his head and followed behind them, walking just a little bit slower and wondering at his naiveté mere hours earlier, when he thought his biggest problem in the world was being covered in cow poop. "Someone—" he muttered, shivering and pulling his soaked coat more tightly around his body and crinkling his nose at the pungent smell of manure, "shoot me now…"

**Next chapter: Wednesday - and lookie! No cliffie!! Man, I think I'm losing my touch!!**


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry it's late guys - but I've had a hard day. Anyways, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review.

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_Frank shook his head and followed behind them, walking just a little bit slower and wondering at his __naiveté__ mere hours earlier, when he thought his biggest problem in the world was being covered in cow poop. "Someone—" he muttered, shivering and pulling his soaked coat more tightly around his body and crinkling his nose at the pungent smell of manure. "Shoot me now…"_

**Chapter 8**

"Ya know, kid, anytime you wanted to wake up and walk would be fine with me," Dean huffed as he carefully picked his way along the bottom of the ravine, his brother's unconscious still body still slung over his back. Sam's gun had been neatly tucked into the back of Dean's pants while his own had been hastily shoved into his own jacket pocket, along with his brother's flashlight; his own joined Joe's in trying to pick out a safe path along the dark and wet ground. God, Dean hated the rain. It just made everything…wet.

"It's just wrong to be walking in wet underwear," he grumbled to Joe. The blond teen chuckled and glanced across at him.

"Personally I have a thing about wet socks," Joe admitted as he shivered dramatically. "Yuck. The way they hug your toes like furry slugs—"

"And damp toe jam – nassssty!" Dean agreed enthusiastically as he scanned his flashlight over the ravine walls, looking for a half-decent way up. So far, the slopes were still too steep.

"Do you guys mind?" Frank asked from behind them as he brought up the rear. "Do we really need to talk about this?"

"No," Dean admitted and then winked at Joe. "We can talk about your girlfriend, if you'd prefer…I hear she's hot."

Joe almost choked as he inhaled sharply and laughed at the same time – he could almost feel the glare burning a hole in their backs. Dean patted him on the back with the hand holding the flashlight.

"You know what?" Frank's voice was chilly. "Why don't you just tell us what _you _and Sam were doing out here to begin with, huh? Or better yet – what were you shooting at?"

Dean tensed. "Nothing, I already told you. Just letting the kids know we were here."

"Bull," Frank retorted. "Which brings us back to the original question: what are you guys doing here?"

The older Winchester stopped and slowly turned to face Frank. "Are you saying I'm lying?"

"Do you ever tell the truth?" the dark-haired Hardy challenged as he stood his ground; Joe tensed in anticipation of trouble.

Dean continued to glare at Frank for a moment and then he just pursed his lips and gave an approving nod as he cocked an eyebrow and spoke to Joe. "Give that man a set of balls – 'cause I've shot people for less…"

A slight groan and shifting from Sam distracted the confrontation as Dean gently lowered his brother to the wet ground and helped him sit up. "You with us again, Sammy?" He felt the Hardys press close, almost as eager as he to see the younger hunter awake.

Sam slowly nodded his head and then winced, one hand gingerly creeping up to his forehead. "Uh…y-y-eah." He shivered and blinked his eyes before he glanced up at his brother.

Dean shot him a cocky smile, relieved to see his brother's somewhat lucid-looking eyes. "You've always had such a way with words..."

For a moment the younger boy looked confused and then he scowled. "B-b-bite m-m-me!"

"I would if I thought you had any meat on them bones," the older hunter quipped and then became more serious. "We need to get out of here – can you walk?"

Sam nodded and struggled to push himself up. Dean caught one arm and slung it over his neck – he looked at Joe but the blond teen was already there, moving to support Sam on the other side.

Dean used his free hand to play the flashlight beam across the sides of the gully. He bit his lip for a moment and then made a decision. "Let's try here." He used the arm of his coat to wipe his wet face. "We can't stay down here any longer."

"We might have stayed too long," Frank started to say as he shone his light behind him. The small creek that ran through the bottom of the ravine was quickly swelling over its banks. "MOVE!" he shouted, shoving at Joe to get them started.

With Sam between them, Joe and Dean carefully picked their way up the slick slope, cursing and sliding as the mud made good footing difficult. Behind them, Frank reached out to put a hand on the injured boy's back to try and help but Sam cried out and jerked away, almost bringing them all down.

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean hissed as he tightened his hold and continued up, gasping in relief when they finally reached the top and pulled Sam over the edge.

Joe turned around to give his brother a hand just as a wall of water surged through the gully. "FRANK!" he yelled, tugging frantically to get Frank away from the water, as startled, the dark-haired teen lost his footing.

Another set of arms moved past Joe's, latching onto the older Hardy as well, and both Joe and Dean yanked him over the edge and dropped him next to Sam.

Frank gasped hard and then gave a shiver. "Thanks," he said, realizing what a close call he had just had.

Dean exhaled loudly. "Kids," he grumbled, and then leaned over to get Sam back up. "You girls about ready to leave now?"

"Lead the way," Joe grinned, extending a hand to his own weary brother and hauling Frank to his feet. "I know I'd just about kill for a hot cup of steaming hot chocolate."

"Coffee," Frank added.

"Beer," Dean put in and then grinned as Frank scowled.

They then looked at Sam. He blushed and mumbled something.

"What was that, little brother?" Dean teased, "We didn't quite get it."

"W-w-warm m-m-milk, okay," Sam managed, through chattering teeth. "I s-s-said '_w-w-w-arm m-m-milk'._"

Even Frank was chuckling at that as the four drenched, cold, dirty, exhausted, _smelly _(in Frank's case) and injured young men dragged their carcasses back through the wet woods and towards their vehicles.

It had been an incredibly long night.

**Next update: Monday at the latest**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you for taking the time to review - ! I hope you continue to enjoy it!**

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

"_Lead the way," Joe grinned, extending a hand to his own weary brother and hauling Frank to his feet. "I know I'd just about kill for a hot cup of steaming hot chocolate."_

"_Coffee," Frank added._

"_Beer," Dean put in and then grinned as Frank scowled._

_They then looked at Sam. He blushed and mumbled something._

"_What was that, little brother?" Dean teased, "We didn't quite get it."_

"_W-w-warm m-m-milk, okay," Sam managed, through chattering teeth. "I s-s-said 'w-w-w-arm m-m-milk'"_

_Even Frank was chuckling at that as the four drenched, cold, dirty, exhausted, smelly (in Frank's case) and injured young men dragged their carcasses back through the wet woods and towards their vehicles._

_It had been an incredibly long night._

**Chapter 9**

"Crap," Frank hissed when the bedraggled little crew finally got back to the van. "I don't believe this!"

Sam frowned and blinked to clear his vision as he forced his weary head up enough to see what was wrong. On either side of him, his supports – his brother and Joe – immediately recognized the problem, though Sam hadn't quite figured it out yet. He was usually a lot sharper…

"You've _got_ to be kidding," Joe grumbled while Dean whistled in appreciation, shifting to take on more of Sam's weight so Joe could move towards the van:

"Shit….Who'd you boys piss off?"

Sam finally saw what all the commotion was about and he winced in sympathy. Someone had slashed the tires on the Hardys' van, all four of them, Frank confirmed a moment later after doing a quick check.

Joe crouched down and touched the damaged rubber. He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. "Wonderful." He looked at his brother. "_Absolutely_ wonderful."

The younger Winchester hazarded a glance at his sibling as he wondered, fleetingly, if the wraith had somehow done that, but Dean – as if seeing the question on Sam's face – just shrugged and raised an eyebrow. Apparently he had no idea either…

Standing, Joe glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. He grimaced and looked at his brother. "Sooo…who'd you think'll be least pissed off if we call for a ride at this hour of the night?"

Frank ran a hand through his dark wet hair in agitation. "Normally I'd say Dad, but—"

"He's not home yet and Mom doesn't have a car – its in the shop until Monday," Joe finished for him as he started to search his pockets for his cell.

Sam felt his brother's heavy sigh before he heard it. "Look. My car's not far from here – we can give you a lift or something…" He fidgeted slightly. "Seeing that you found Sammy and all."

"I-it's S-S-Sam, j-j-jerk," Sam tried to remind. It was a never ending battle between Sam and the older members of his family to drop the babyish '_my_' from his name.

'_Sammy'_ was a little kid, the baby of the family, not a struggling teenager trying to ante up with the rest of the men in his testosterone-driven family of demon hunters. Of course, it was pretty much a losing battle…but he was persistent if nothing else.

"Bitch is more like it," Dean retorted, making both Joe and Frank look at him oddly. He raised his eyebrows and looked around innocently. "_What?_" After a moment, he added, "Well, you guys want a lift or what? 'Cause as much as I love standing around here freezing my ass off, if I don't get out of the cold soon, I'm going to be needing to do some serious spelunking if I ever hope to piss straight again." He grinned at Frank's horrified expression as Joe tried to keep the grin off his face. "Oh…and I need to put the kid, here, on defrost…blue is just not a great color on him."

Frank immediately turned to Joe. "Call Biff. He owes us a favor or two—"

"Biff?" Dean cut in with a snort. "You actually know someone named '_Biff'_?" He started to laugh.

"D-Dean," Sam's weary voice interrupted whatever next he was going to say. "C-c-can we j-j-just g-g-go?" He wasn't sure how much longer he was going to be able to stay conscious. He was just so cold and tired. His head still hurt and he suspected it had something to do with the wraith but right now, he was too exhausted to consider it any further than that. "P-p-please?"

"Sam's right. C'mon Frank. It'd be stupid to wake Biff—" he glanced at Dean, "and yes that is his name – when they can just drop us off at home," Joe finished, putting his cell phone away.

Frank didn't look as convinced but finally he nodded, seeing the logic in taking the Winchesters up on their offer. He looked down the dark road. "How far is your car?"

"I don't know for sure," Dean admitted. "But it shouldn't be more than a mile from here." He glanced down at Sam, his brow puckered in a frown.

Sam sighed and felt himself deflate. _A mile_…

"Look," Frank suddenly spoke up, obviously sensing the dilemma, or maybe it was just the big brother in him speaking, "Why don't you and Joe go get the car? I'll stay with Sam and he can stretch out on the bench seat in the van."

Dean seemed torn and Frank added, "The tires are flat but the engine still works. I'll crank up the heat, and it'll be faster this way."

"Sammy?" Dean asked softly as he caught his brother's gaze; his tone said what his words didn't: _Is that okay with you?_ _Will you be all right?_ He wasn't used to leaving the younger hunter with strangers – and he really didn't know the Hardys very well.

The sixteen year old nodded slightly, his strength waning and the lure of lying down almost overpowering, but still his older brother seemed hesitant.

"I don't know—"

"Dean," Joe moved towards the Winchesters. "Frank'll take good care of Sam…I promise." He smiled, his blue eyes burning brightly as he added, "He's got the big brother thing down pat."

The older Winchester appraised Frank critically and then slowly nodded. "Okay. On one condition…"

Frank raised his eyebrow, questioningly and Dean continued. "You take Sammy's gun—"

"No way," Frank held up his hands. "I don't need that."

"I'm not asking you to sleep with the damn thing, just keep it close. Just in case…" Dean retorted.

"Just in case of what?" the older Hardy pressed warily, his dark eyes meeting and holding the young man's.

"Geez. I don't know," the young hunter snorted sarcastically. "Maybe the yahoos who slashed your tires might come back—" He fumbled to liberate Sam's gun from the small of his back, deftly adjusting his hold on his brother to keep from jostling Sam too much. "Humor me, okay?" He held the handgun out.

Frank looked at Joe.

"For cripes sake. It's only loaded with rock-salt. It won't kill anyone," Dean huffed.

Joe shrugged. It was Frank's call.

"Fine. Okay." The older Hardy reached out and took the gun from Dean. He checked to make sure the safety was on and then shoved it into his coat pocket. "You happy now?"

Dean gave him a curious look and then smirked. "You've made my whole night."

As Frank rolled his eyes, Joe opened the side door of the van and helped Dean get Sam settled on the bench seat. He pulled out an old blanket from the back and placed it over the shivering teenager.

"I'll be right back," Dean promised and then waited for the older Hardy to start the van and jack up the heat before giving his brother one last look. Sam managed a smile before closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the seat. He was too tired to say anything.

…

Dean slammed the door shut and turned to Frank. His voice dropped to a low growl, "If anything happens to him—"

Frank glanced at Joe and then back to Dean. He lifted his chin and met the hunter's warning. "Ditto."

Satisfied that they had an understanding, the two groups split up.

Dean and Joe hurried along the dark and wet road towards the Impala, while Frank and Sam stayed behind.

Opening the van door and sliding onto the driver's seat, Frank glanced back at Sam. Satisfied that the kid seemed to be resting, he sighed and tried to swallow down the lump of unease that was growing in the back of his throat…

Although he had been the one to suggest they separate, a creeping feeling of foreboding unsettled Frank. He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. And about ten minutes later when the temperature suddenly dropped and frost slowly crept up the windows, Frank knew he was right...

And then he smelled the sulfur a moment before something slammed into the side of the van!

Next update: Friday :P


	10. Chapter 10

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

_Although he had been the one to suggest they separate, a creeping feeling of foreboding unsettled Frank. He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong. And about ten minutes later when the temperature suddenly dropped and frost slowly crept up the windows, Frank knew he was right..._

_And then he smelled the sulfur a moment before something slammed into the side of the van!_

**Chapter 10**

"You and Sam don't look very much a like," Joe spoke easily as he and Dean jogged down the dark and wet road, hopefully in the direction of Dean's car. An avid athletic enthusiast, the blond-haired teen had no trouble maintaining a quick pace…and a conversation.

Dean cast a disbelieving look at him, having no trouble keeping up with Joe either. Since the tender age of four, the hazel-eyed hunter had either been training to hunt, or actually hunting and that kind of life bred a certain kind of body; the kind that kept up and kept him alive. He cocked an eyebrow, amused. "Whereas you and Frank are such freakin' identical twins, huh?"

Joe blushed and grinned. _What could he say?_ Blond-haired and blue-eyed, he took after his mother, while his dark-haired, and dark-eyed older sibling was their father, born again. "Well you know…"

The older man snorted. "Geez, it must be a pain in the ass for your folks to tell you apart."

"Nah, not really," the younger Hardy played along, immediately warming up the brash hunter. "I got the puppy dog eyes."

Dean laughed out loud as he shook his head. "I think that is definitely a little brother thing….Sammy has it happening like nobody's business. One power pout and a dash of puppy dog eyes and he's enough to sell an Eskimo air conditioning!"

"How's your head?" Joe asked after another moment, his vision straining forward for any sign of the black car. They should be seeing it soon.

When Dean gave him a questioning look, he elaborated by indicating his own forehead. The hunter touched the obviously forgotten gash and winced. "Fine," he said and then threw the question back at the young detective. "What about you? You're not going to pass out or anything, are you? I cross the line at hauling other people's baby brothers around – now baby sisters…well, that's a complete other story."

Joe grinned – he really liked Dean. "Nah, I'm fine. I've had worse."

"Now why doesn't that reassure me?" the older man asked but the blond teen only shrugged and kept jogging.

"Dunno," Joe admitted, still smiling. Curious about his companion, he pressed, "So I know your Dad is up state 'working'," he'd learned that two nights ago when he first met the Winchesters, "but what about your Mom? Where's she?"

Immediately Dean tensed. He didn't look at Joe and his voice, when he spoke was curt and dissuading. "Dead."

"Sorry," Joe mumbled, chagrined at his own curiosity.

The next few minutes passed in silence, each runner lost in his own thoughts, until they saw a looming shape on the side of the road and recognized it as the Winchesters' car.

"Sweet," Dean exhaled as he fished out his keys and glanced at Joe. He smirked, "Shall we go get the kids?"

Joe whistled in appreciation as he waited for Dean to unlock the door. "Nice," he complimented. "67 Impala. Impress-ssive." He drew the last word out as he ran an appraising hand over the hood. "Your Dad the original owner?"

Dean pursed his lips, pleased that the teen appreciated the car. "Nope. My Mom was." His gaze softened as he glanced at Joe and admitted, "She loved this car."

"Can't say I blame her," Joe offered as he slid into the front passenger seat and nodded his head in approval when he saw just how meticulous the interior was. His blue eyes shone brightly, he loved muscle cars. "I'd kill for a chance to drive her."

"Dude," Dean mock-glared. "You'd better be talking about my car."

Joe blinked at him in confusion and then blushed as he realized what he said. He opened his mouth to say something but the hunter just grinned and started the car, effectively cutting him off. "While you digest your foot, I'll get our brothers."

Shoving the car into drive, Dean skillfully executed a 180-degree turn and tore off in the direction they had just come.

It was time to get Frank and Sam.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What the hell?" Frank yelled as he was tossed against the passenger seat when something slammed into the side of the van.

Behind him Sam scrambled to sit up, his eyes wide and uncomprehending, and then a loud high-pitched screech forced his hands over his ears.

"Frank!" he yelled, frantically grabbing for the older Hardy's arm. "We gotta go!"

Although he was also covering his ears against the horrid wails, Frank heard Sam and quickly scrambled between the seats and into the back with the younger teen. The van shuddered and groaned when something slammed into it again, this time moving it slightly, pushing it towards the edge of the road.

Sam was struggling to get the side door open.

"Move!" Frank wasted no time on niceties, pushing the younger boy away he deftly unlocked and then slid the door open. He held his arm out, keeping Sam behind him as he ducked his head outside and glanced around, but saw nothing.

The air, bitterly frigid around them, was deathly silent. The only sound – his and Sam's breathing – was cruelly loud and it set his nerves on their very edge. _What was going on?_

A motion out of the corner of his eye was the only warning he got before Sam threw his entire weight into Frank, knocking him out of the door and flat onto his face.

"Sam!" he grunted as they grappled on the ground. He didn't want to hurt the already injured kid, but Sam didn't seem to have the same predilection as he elbowed Frank in the face. "That's it," he growled when his nose exploded in pain. "No more Mr. Nice Guy."

He moved to subdue the young hunter but Sam jerked away, staggered to his feet and leaned against the side of the van for support. Breathing heavily the kid winced and shot Frank something akin to an apologetic look.

The eighteen year old opened his mouth to ask what the hell was wrong with him but stiffened, realizing with a sickening clarity as he saw what Sam was holding, exactly what was up…

Sam had gotten his gun and right now, it was aimed directly at Frank.

_Crap._

"Whoa, easy there Sam," Frank tried to soothe, slowly starting to rise. But before he could say anything else, Sam yelled:

"_DOWN!" _

And fired.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Dean slammed on the brakes, sending the Impala into a skidding stop next to the van as the sound of a gunshot reverberated through the night.

Exchanging one horrified look with Joe, he shoved open the door and raced towards the front of the van, barely a moment behind the quick-moving Hardy.

Both men froze momentarily, shocked by what they saw, as the acrid odor of rock salt and sulfur permeated the air, thick enough to make them cough…

Lying on the ground, unmoving, was Frank Hardy.

Dean immediately sought out his younger brother. Sam was slumped down on the ground, the gun still held in his shaking hands.

"Sammy?" The older hunter moved cautiously towards his brother as behind him, he heard Joe trying to rouse Frank. He crouched down in front of his distressed sibling and asked softly. "What did you do?"

Sam looked at his brother, his eyes wide and confused. "I-I think—" he swallowed hard and shivered, unable to keep the horror off his pale and bruised features. "I th-think I s-s-shot h-h-him! Oh G-G-God D-D-Dean…" and then he bent over and retched.

Next chapter: Monday :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Close Encounters **

_From the previous chapter:_

"_Sammy?" The older hunter moved cautiously towards his brother as behind him, he heard Joe trying to rouse Frank. He crouched down in front of his distressed sibling and asked softly. "What did you do?"_

_Sam looked at his brother, his eyes wide and confused. "I-I think—" he swallowed hard and shivered, unable to keep the horror off his pale and bruised features. "I th-think I s-s-shot h-h-him! Oh G-G-God D-D-Dean…" and then he bent over and retched._

**Chapter 11**

"Frank?" Joe gently shook his brother as he quickly glanced over the prone body, looking for any signs of injury. The older boy had a bloody nose but other than that, seemed to be fine.

After a moment, the blond teen got a moan for his effort and then his older brother moved his head slightly before he opened his eyes; taking in a sharp breath as he did so.

"Whoa, easy there, big brother," Joe said, his voice low and soothing. He put his hand on Frank's shoulder to keep him from sitting up. "You're okay."

Frank blinked and then frowned. He reached up and touched his sore nose. "Ow," he winced softly and then as he remembered what had happened, he shrugged off Joe's hand and sat up, quickly turning towards where Dean was crouched down with his brother, one hand on the younger boy's back as Sam dry-heaved. "Sam!"

Dean turned at the sound of Frank's voice, relief clear on his handsome young face. "Frank – you okay?"

"I'll live," the older Hardy assured; accepting Joe's hand up he moved stiffly towards the Winchesters, rubbing at a sore spot on his back. He glared at Sam as the kid blinked up at him, his face a sickly shade of green. "What'd you see?" He crouched down eye level to the kid, ignoring both Dean and Joe for the moment. Sam slowly shifted back so he was sitting, leaning against the side of the van again. "When you told me to get down, what'd you see?"

Sam glanced at his own brother and then lowered his gaze, the dark bangs falling into his eyes as he just shook his head. "Y-you w-w-won't b-b-believe m-m-me," he shivered.

"What happened, Frank?" Joe asked quietly, moving to stand behind his brother.

Frank appraised the younger Winchester for a long moment and then sighed and stood up, realizing he wasn't about to get anything out of the kid right now. He was relieved to see that Dean had the gun Sam had shot at him, though. The older Hardy exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his wet hair, wondering if this night could possibly get any more screwed up.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but something attacked the van just after you guys left." He frowned and gingerly touched his nose. "Sam kinda freaked out—" he ignored Dean as the older Winchester slowly rose beside them. "Tackled me to get his gun—" he cast a quick glance at Sam. "You could have just asked," he added and then continued when Sam refused to meet his gaze, "Aimed the damn thing at me and then yelled 'down' and fired."

"I-I w-wasn't sh-sh-shooting at y-y-you," Sam defended quietly.

"Touché," Frank replied and then winced and rubbed his back again. "I just dropped and damn near knocked myself out."

Joe chuckled softly as he reached out and patted his older brother's shoulder consolingly. "Well at least you listened this time, old man." He then pulled his hand back and wrinkled up his nose. "Rather stinky than dead."

"Speaking of which," Frank turned on Dean, "What is up with 'rock-salt'?"

"Look," Dean held up his hands in resignation. "Can we table sharing time for just now?" He leaned down and grabbed his brother by the arm, gently hefting the younger boy to his feet. "I'm cold and my ass is getting numb."

Frank opened his mouth to protest but then realized it was late, they were all tired, sore, cold, wet and – in his case – smelly. Besides, their mother would be worried sick if he and Joe didn't get home soon. "Fine," he conceded, "But you are going to tell us what's going on. After all the crap we've been through in the past two hours, I think we've got the right to know."

Dean appraised Frank a long moment and then slowly nodded. "Fair enough," he stated bluntly and then helped his brother around the front of the van and towards the waiting Impala.

As Frank and Joe got into the back, Dean carefully lowered Sam into the front passenger seat and then closed the door and hurried around to the driver's side.

"Seatbelts, children," he called over his shoulder at the Hardys, after sliding into his own seat. He started the powerful car and then thrust it into drive, quickly pulling away from the disabled van. "Okay, where to?"

"Corner of Elm and High Streets," Joe quipped with a grin.

"Or the next left," Frank added, flatly. He waited a few minutes and then pushed, "Okay. Spill. What's going on?"

Dean sighed heavily and then just said. "It's a wraith. That's what I shot at in the gulley, that's what attacked your van, and that's what Sammy was shooting at. A freakin' wraith."

Frank snorted. "_A wraith_?" his voice was incredulous. "As in a pissed-off ghost? Puhlease…you don't expect—"

"I don't expect anything," Dean cut him off coldly. "You asked and I'm just telling you. Now it's up to you whether or not you want to believe me. But this is what me and my family do – we hunt down these evil sons-a-bitches and send them straight back to hell."

An uncomfortable silence filled the car for a few minutes and then Sam shivered, "R-rock s-salt r-r-repels…brief-f-fly." Dean leaned forward and cranked up the heat more.

Frank looked at Joe to see what his brother was thinking. Joe shrugged his shoulders '_why not'_? But the older teen was not so sure. He had seen a lot of things in his eighteen years, but ghosts? Sighing, the serious young sleuth ran a hand through his dark hair before sitting back and staring out the side window at darkened Bayport. _Ghosts?_

"Rock-salt repels?" he repeated, still unable to just accept what he was hearing.

"Yeah," Dean's voice was hard. He sighed and dropped the edge. "We went back to the house to make sure the poltergeist was gone. And it is…but something even more nasty has moved in. Wraiths are vicious; nothing to be screwed around with. And it's smart. It separated me and Sam, and the rest is, as they say, 'history'. That's it. You wanted to know what was going on, and now you know…"

…

The four young men rode in silence the rest of the way to the Hardy house. One dozing lightly in the passenger seat, one mentally reviewing how screwed up the night had become and what needed to be done next, and two wondering just what the heck they'd stumbled into the middle of, until finally Dean pulled up in front of a large Victorian house with a nicely manicured front yard and big old oak tree out front.

It reeked 'Martha Stewart' and Dean just shook his head but said nothing. Ever since he was a kid, Victorian houses freaked him out….He blamed it on a '_Flowers in the Attic'_ book he'd read 'by accident' when he was twelve.

Glancing across at his younger brother, Dean winced as the streetlights gave him a good view of Sam's damaged face.

Sam opened his eyes and gave him a wan smile. "We there yet?"

The older hunter shook his head. "Nah, brat, not yet. We're just dropping Rick and A.J off first. Then we'll get a room." They'd already checked out of the motel they had been staying in, earlier that day. A couple of dopeheads were staying in the room next door and Dean was uncomfortable with his kid brother being anywhere around them – even in the next room.

"Dean," Sam shifted uncomfortably in the seat as the back doors creaked open and Frank and Joe got out of the car. He lowered his voice. "I r-really got to g-go." Thankfully he was finally warming up and the shivering wasn't as intense as it had been.

"Can it wait?" his brother asked, not liking being parked in front of the huge house – let alone going inside. He sighed in resignation when Sam gave a little head shake – _damn…the things he'd do for this kid_… "Okay." Turning off the car, Dean shoved open the driver's door and got out. "Hey guys," he tilted his head towards the car. "D'you mind if Sammy uses your bathroom before we go?"

"No problem," Joe flashed a smile as Frank went ahead to unlock the front door. The blond teen moved back towards the car in case Dean needed a hand with his brother, but the older Winchester waved him off as he waited patiently for Sam to extricate himself from the passenger seat.

The sixteen-year-old limped heavily, but after having a bit of rest and warming up, he _was_ moving on his own now – albeit stiffly and slowly. Dean kept a surreptitious eye on his brother and reached out to steady him when he wavered slightly climbing the few steps up to the front door.

"Okay, Sammy," he muttered under his breath as they prepared to step inside the house. He felt increasingly uneasy. He could handle ghosts, werewolves, cockroach infested motel rooms, but this he wasn't so sure of….It was a freakin' _Victorian_ house for cripes sake! He wasn't even sure rock-salt would protect them in there. "Let's just keep this simple and make it quick. Got it?"

The younger boy gave him a weak smile as he reached across and patted his arm awkwardly. He was the only other person who knew about Dean's unfounded phobia. "It'll be okay, Dean…it's just a house."

"Yeah and John Wayne Gacie was _just_ a clown."

Sam paled and swallowed hard. _He hated clowns…._ And Dean had a point.

"C'mon," Joe coaxed the two hunters, "My Mom's still up and I know she'd love to meet you!"

Dean felt all the blood drain from his face. _Their mother?_

"Sammy," he hissed, "kill me now!"

The younger hedged. "I could wait…" he offered but Dean exhaled loudly and shook his head.

"You are not getting septic on my watch!" And with one final, steadying breath, the brave hunter stepped into the mouth of the Hardy home….

His younger brother just shook his head and followed. With Dean it was just the easier thing to do.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry for the delay but Laura was being difficult, lol! Let me know what you think! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

"_C'mon," Joe coaxed the two hunters, "My Mom's still up and I know she'd love to meet you!"_

_Dean felt all the blood drain from his face. Their mother?_

"_Sammy," he hissed, "kill me now!" _

_The younger hedged. "I could wait…" he offered but Dean exhaled loudly and shook his head._

"_You are not getting septic on my watch!" And with one final, steadying breath, the brave hunter stepped into the mouth of the Hardy home…_

_His younger brother just shook his head and followed. With Dean it was just the easier thing to do._

**Chapter 12**

Laura Hardy sat at the kitchen table, stared into a tepid cup of tea and sighed. For the tenth time in a few minutes, she glanced up at the clock on the wall and frowned.

The boys should have been home by now.

Having been the wife of a private investigator for almost twenty years, the petite blond didn't waste concern, however there was something gnawing at her, an anxiousness bred from an overdeveloped intuition that insisted something was not right…

Frank and Joe should have been back two hours ago.

Sighing she considered calling the boys but restrained herself, trusting them to let her know if something was wrong.

Unless of course they'd had an accident and were lying unconscious in a ditch at the side of the road –

'E_nough Laura_', the woman mentally chastised. '_They are fine_.'

Forcing her attention back to the book she was reading, Laura scowled and finally admitted defeat after re-reading the same page for the fifth time. Lying the book down on the table without bothering to mark her place, she sighed. _Who was she trying to fool?_ She was their mother. It was her job to worry.

Standing up, she moved towards the phone, just reaching for the handset when the throaty growl of a powerful engine pulling up in front of her house had her pausing.

Listening intently, she heard the sound of heavy doors being slammed shut and then voices. A smile graced her pretty face as she recognized Frank and Joe's.

Her boys were home.

Moving into the living room, her smile widened as she heard a key in the front door. She had missed them.

"Hey, Mom," Frank greeted as soon as he opened the door and saw her there. "What are you doing up?"

"Just waiting for two of my favorite men," Laura replied nonchalantly noting her son's swollen nose and the dried blood on his upper lip. She frowned and her gaze flittered towards the open door expectantly. A moment later her youngest, his face beaming, strode into the house.

"Hey Mom, look what we found." He moved out of the way to let two more young men into the house and if the pretty blond was surprised she hid it well. He shot her a lopsided and completely disarming grin. "Can we keep them?"

The newcomers were dirty and wet – as were her sons – and looked to be about their age, maybe a little older she amended, as she got a good look at older one. He had a certain presence and she noticed how he quickly scanned both her and the interior of the house, keeping the other young man mostly hidden by his muscular frame.

He was obviously ill at ease.

'_Protective?_' Laura mused, appraising the young man, her gaze lingering on the ugly gash on his forehead. He was hurt too.

"Mom, this is Dean Winchester," Joe went on to introduce and the newcomer tipped his head in acknowledgement of his name, "and his brother, Sam."

Dean, as was apparently his name, finally moved and Laura actually gasped when she got a look at his brother. Younger than even Joe, she figured, the brown haired teen was a mess. His bloodied face was scratched and bruised and the way he wavered slightly in the doorway told her that he was injured more than she could see.

"What happened?" she blurted out, moving instinctively towards the youngster and then stopping as his older brother blocked her way.

Her stomach twisted as weary hazel eyes looked up at her from behind his brother. "Can I use your bathroom, please?" Sam asked softly.

"Of course." It didn't escape her notice that no one answered her question. "It's down the hall on the left." With some help from the wall, Sam managed to kick off his shoes and then started across the room. His unsteady gait worried Laura. "Dean," she addressed the older brother quietly, "he might need some help."

The young man gave her a quick appreciative smile and then took off his own boots and hurried to catch up.

As soon as Laura heard the bathroom door close, she turned on her sons, snagging a tissue and passing it to Frank as she did so. "Spill."

"We ran into a bit of van trouble on the back road," Joe started. "And the Winchesters stopped to help."

"Oh," the intuitive mother raised an eyebrow, "is that all?"

"Well no," Joe glanced at his brother, "not exactly."

"Hey Mom," Frank interrupted saving his brother. He moved towards his mother, his tone gently imploring, "Can we save it for the morning? It's been a long night."

When he got closer Laura wrinkled her nose, her eyes narrowing shrewdly, "Frank? Do I smell manure?"

His face reddening as he had completely forgotten about how fragrant he was, he shot his brother a deadly look. "Ah, yeah it is – thanks to Joe and Chet."

Laura sighed and rolled her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips. "Okay then boys, I'll cut you a break… for tonight. Frank, go get a shower," she made a show of wiping the air in front of her nose, "or two. And Joe, you can wait with me for your guests."

Frank nodded and headed up the stairs.

'_Winchester?'_ Laura ran the name around her mind. It rang a bell. "Wait a sec," she suddenly said, focusing on Joe, "Winchester. Are these the boys who found you in that horrid old house?"

The seventeen year old nodded. "Yeah that's them." They had told their parents about Joe's abduction that same night, after they had finally gotten home. "Sam found me."

"Where are their parents?" Laura pressed, her own maternal instincts reacting to seeing how beaten up the boys were.

"Ah. There dad is doing a job upstate – he's a freelancer of some sort, I think, and their mom is dead." He paused and added, "They aren't from around here."

The woman frowned. "So where are they staying? Who's taking care of them?"

"Well Dean is twenty," Joe told her, "so he's in charge, I guess, and I think they're staying at a motel or something. I don't really know."

The sound of the toilet flushing interrupted any further conversation and they waited in silence for the Winchesters to come back out. Laura noticed that Joe was rubbing at his arm and opened her mouth to ask about it when the door finally opened and Sam stepped into the hallway, his brother close behind.

Sam had taken the time to try and clean up a bit, and his face now looked alarmingly pale and the bruises and cuts stood out in stark contrast.

"Thank you," Dean spoke for them, his smile grateful and sincere. "But we better be going now…" He held Laura's gaze, "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Hardy."

There was something engaging about the brothers and Laura surprised herself when she just blurted out. "Stay. We have a guest room across from the bathroom. My sister-in-law usually stays in it but she's in New York for the week. It's late and it'd be no bother." Her gaze lingered on Sam. "Your brother looks about ready to drop."

Dean glanced at Sam and started to shake his head but Laura persisted. "Please, Dean. It would make me feel better. And in the morning, you boys can get on your way."

"Dean?" Sam's voice was quiet. "We'd still have to get a room…"

It was hard to miss the conflicted look on his face as Dean bit his lip and considered the younger boy. Laura knew he was wavering and smiled as she pressed. "I won't take no for an answer." She started to move towards the kitchen. "Joe can show you to the room and I'll grab the first aid kit and some Tylenol."

"But-" Dean opened his mouth to argue but Laura turned back around and fixed him with a stern look, amused by the exasperated look on the young man's face before he finally relented. "Fine. But we're out of here in the morning."

"Fine," she nodded. "Now get out of those wet clothes and I'll toss them in the washer for you…" she looked at her own son, "Joe, find Dean something of your father's to wear. I don't think your stuff, or Frank's will fit him." Although Dean was Joe's height, the older Winchester was more muscular. His brother though – "And get something of your own for Sam." The younger Winchester was ganglier than Joe but, judging by his current loose attire, he wouldn't mind at all.

Laura was pretty sure that the younger boy was used to his brother's hand-me-downs.

Satisfied for now, the blond woman hurried into the kitchen, leaving the boys alone.

…

Dean blinked. He looked at his brother wondering exactly how they had gone from just making a pit stop to an overnight tour. He had one explanation. The woman was obviously possessed.

"Christo?" He offered weakly, mildly surprised when Laura didn't react. She just kept going, into the kitchen, he presumed.

Sam just stared at him, mild amusement written on his bruised face.

Dean glared back. "Shut up," he muttered and then gently pushed his brother to follow Joe. This just kept getting better…

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**_Alerts are down again. Here is the next chapter. Sorry it is so long between chapters but 'All the Kings Men' keeps demanding my time. That plus the 'blahs' and the 'not feelings well' make it hard to write. But here it is - hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. Please no flames though, as flames have a way of burning creativity :)_**

**Close Encounters **

_Dean blinked. He looked at his brother wondering exactly how they had gone from just making a pit stop to an overnight tour. He had one explanation. The woman was obviously possessed._

"_Christo?" He offered weakly, mildly surprised when Laura didn't react. She just kept going, into the kitchen, he presumed._

_Sam just stared at him, mild amusement written on his bruised face._

_Dean glared back. "Shut up," he muttered and then gently pushed his brother to follow Joe. This just kept getting better…._

**Chapter 13**

Dean followed Joe through a door and into the guestroom that Laura had mentioned, and as he looked around he felt all the blood drain from his face. It was terrifying…

It had 'old lady's' room written all over it, from the nauseatingly floral wallpaper and frilly white curtains to the lace doilies on the bureau. And if that wasn't scary enough, the porcelain doll collection that the absent aunt had amassed would have truly horrified. They were everywhere.

"Oh my God," he muttered under his breath. "I've died and gone to – uh, Sam," his eyes roved over the painted faces, "exactly where have I died and gone to?"

Behind him, Sam faltered, dizzied by the clutter. "Ah—" He was actually at a loss for words – an unusual occurrence for the youngest Winchester, who had started speaking at the age of seven months. His first word had been '_Dede_'. Dean.

One colorfully painted face, with a very red nose, caught Dean's attention and he was moving before Sam saw it, reaching out and shoving the offending collectible out of sight.

Joe gave him an odd look. Dean shrugged and gave his best 'innocent' look. While _he_ would mercilessly tease his younger brother about his clown-phobia, he refused anyone else that privilege…so the clown doll had gone down. A silent assassination in the name of brotherhood.

He was fairly certain that that was something the Hardy boys would have understood.

"Okay then," Joe grinned, picking up that he was missing something significant but not pressing the issue. "Give me a couple of minutes and I'll have some dry duds for you." He paused and added as he glanced at the wavering younger Winchester. "There's towels in the closet across the hall, if you want to take a shower or something."

"Thanks, man," Dean said with heartfelt sincerity; a shower had never sounded so good before. He turned to his younger brother as soon as Joe left. "Stay here," he ordered and then moved across the hall and came back with a thick green towel.

Wordlessly he spread it over the floral comforter and then helped Sam strip down to his briefs frowning as he finally got a good look at his brother's injuries.

"Man, kid," he whistled softly in appreciation, "you are one hell of a mess."

A knock on the door interrupted Sam's response.

"Dean? Sam?" It was Laura. "I've got the first aid kit."

Giving his brother the 'move an inch and die' look, Dean opened the door, surprised when the woman passed him a tray holding the first aid kit, two cups of hot liquid – inhaling, the young demon hunter furrowed his brow. One coffee. One hot chocolate – and two sandwiches, tuna.

"Just in case," was all Laura said as she gave him a soft smile and then turned away. "Sleep tight," she added over her shoulder, "and if you need anything, ask one of the boys."

Dean watched her go and then just shook his head, used his foot to close the door and then turned around. "You hungry?" he asked but Sam just shook his head.

Joe returned a few minutes later with a change of clothes for each of the Winchesters and then waited while the brothers changed and then passed him their wet stuff.

The older Winchester frowned as he glared at the police insignia on the front of the navy tee Joe gave him. Wordlessly he cocked an eyebrow and looked at the blond teen for some sort of explanation.

"My dad used to be a cop," was all he got, and then with a final "Good night" the younger Hardy was gone, quickly moving towards the upstairs where he and his brother slept.

Dean's frown grew as he glanced at his brother. Sam was sitting on edge of the bed, the green towel protecting the comforter. "Not a word," he muttered and then indicated the bathroom across the hall from them as he reached out to pull his brother to his feet, "c'mon, geek-boy, let's get you cleaned up."

"You know," Sam mumbled tiredly, "normal brothers don't go to the bathroom together…"

"Yeah, well we ain't normal," the older man snorted. "Besides, Dad would have my ass if I let you drown in the shower for the sake of your preserving your pride. And need I remind you that I've changed your diapers?"

Sam stopped and shot his brother a daggered look. "Dude, you're only four years older than me. No way in hell Dad let you anywhere near my bottom when you were only five or six!"

Dean grinned and ushered his brother into the small bathroom. "True…but I did teach you how to aim."

"God, Dean. Sharing time is getting scary…"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank had just finished with the shower when Joe came back upstairs. Hearing the younger boy go into his room, he wrapped a white towel around his waist and stepped through the door into Joe's room.

"Everything okay?" he asked, taking note of Joe's haggard appearance.

"Yeah," Joe sighed heavily and dropped down on the edge of the bed. Absently he rubbed at his arm. "Sam and Dean are in Aunt Gertrude's room for tonight." He grinned. "You should have seen the look on Dean's face when he saw," he paused and added emphasis with his tone, and parentheses with his fingers, "'_the collection'_."

The older Hardy laughed as he towel-dried his hair. "Man, I would have loved to have seen that."

"It was priceless," Joe beamed, "Dean was actually speechless. And Sam just kinda stood there."

"Well, the poor kid has an excuse, he's had a pretty rough night. Speaking of which," Frank snagged Joe's wrist as it moved towards his arm again. "What's up with your arm? I've seen you rubbing it a couple of times now."

"I dunno," Joe admitted, reaching to peel his shirt off to get a look, "But it's been bugging me for the last hour or so." Freeing his arm he frowned. "What the—?"

Frank crouched down to get a better look. He gently rotated his brother's arm, his own frown matching the blond teen's as he took in the raw, red mark on Joe's arm. It looked like he'd been burned. Sitting back on his heels, he pursed his lips. "What happened?"

Joe just shook his head. "I have no idea. It looks like a burn and it feels like a burn—"

"But how do you get a burn on your arm without even singeing your shirt?" Frank held up the undamaged sleeve for Joe to see. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder towards the hallway. "Maybe we should be asking the Winchesters that question."

"Frank…" Joe started but his brother held up his hand, waving off his protest as he moved to close the room door.

"Just hear me out, okay?"

"Okay," the younger boy sighed, although he didn't sound open to whatever Frank was about to suggest; the older Hardy wondered briefly about the apparent protectiveness Joe harbored towards the Winchesters, but he didn't press about it. Yet…

"Weird things have been happening all night. First with the van – I mean what was with that? It just died for no reason and then was fine again a few minutes later? Then when we find you and Sam, you're out cold but say that Sam had nothing to do with it," he continued quickly seeing the protest already forming on Joe's lips. "Dean's got a gun full of rock-salt, hell they both do; the van gets 'attacked', twice….AND Sam almost shoots me – with rock-salt…which apparently repels spirits, according to the ghost-busting duo downstairs – add that to this 'wraith' thing they were babbling about in the car and I'd say, it _is_ quite possible that they might have a very good explanation for how you got a burn on your arm but nothing on your clothes." He paused for a breath and to see if Joe was going to say anything.

The younger boy stared at him for a long time, seeming to seriously consider what Frank was saying.

"Well?" the dark haired Hardy pressed after a minute of silence.

"Huh," Joe finally said.

"Huh?" Frank repeated and then scowled. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Frank," Joe stood up and moved towards the bathroom the brothers shared. It connected their rooms like a giant walk-in closet with separate doors. "I'm tired. It's late. My arm hurts like hell and I gotta take a piss….Can we sleep on this and maybe finish this conversation tomorrow? Morning might shed light on all this."

The older teen just stared at his brother's retreating back. "Okay," he drawled out slowly, "So, who are you? And what have you done with my brother?" It was not like Joe to be so…well so 'calm' after the adrenaline-filled night they had. Normally when things had been 'chaotic' the usually hyper younger boy would be driving Frank crazy with wild hypotheses and outlandish ideas. But not this time. This time, Joe just seemed…well…a bit off.

"And people call me dramatic," Joe quipped from the bathroom as he washed his hands. "I'm just tired and I wouldn't mind a couple of aspirin."

Frank sighed. That he did understand. "Fine. But we talk to Dean in the morning."

"Fine," Joe agreed and the sound of the shower turning on indicated the end of the conversation.

Using the hallway to get back to his room, the older Hardy didn't realize just how weary he was until he lay down. He actually groaned as his still tender back hit the mattress.

What a messed up night….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Twenty minutes later, Dean stood beside the bed, freshly showered, in clean clothes – police workout sweats, nonetheless – and with a small Band-aid covering the gash on his forehead; he watched his younger brother sleep.

Sam was a mess, but amazingly enough he had managed to get away with no serious injury; the worst being a sprained wrist, bruised ribs, and a wrenched knee. He'd be limping for a while, that was for sure.

He'd even managed to avoid a concussion though he had admitted his head hurt.

Other than that, Sam was scratched, bruised and very colorful, but he'd live.

Bothersome though, were two unexplainable marks on the younger Winchester, more like a rash or burn than anything else….One was on Sam's chin and the other, a much larger and unnervingly hand-shaped print, was in the center of his back.

The skin was painful and hot to the touch.

Dean frowned and sighed as he reached up to scrub at his tired eyes. He couldn't remember seeing anything wrong with his brother's coat or shirt to suggest how the mark had gotten on Sam's back. He might have missed it though – anything was possible, as he'd been a bit preoccupied with getting Sam out of the ditch at the time.

Realizing that the articles of clothing in question were in the laundry, he knew that he'd have to wait until morning to see if he could figure it out. He had a sneaking suspicion about what had caused it, but wanted to rule out all natural causes first.

Though when dealing with Sam, it usually worked best just to skip anything 'usual' and jump right into 'freaky-assed'.

Exhaling wearily, the exhausted young man eased himself onto the bed next to Sam and then stretched out, the softness of the mattress more welcome than he'd ever admit.

It wasn't the first time he and his brother had shared a bed and actually, in light of the night they'd just had, it gave him an extra modicum of comfort to know that if Sam even breathed the wrong way, he'd know.

"Night, kiddo," he whispered as he lay on his side and then reached up and turned off the lamp.

…

Outside the Hardy house the wind rustled the autumn leaves on the old oak tree in the front yard. A small black cat ran across the street. A dog barked, once.

And the wraith waited.

Anger seethed through its very presence; a hatred so powerful it kept the spirit unbound and restless…tormented.

Slowly, like poison through veins, the creature seeped into the walls, drawn to a light like a moth to a flame.

Inside the house, safely ensconced in a warm bed, the 'light' tossed lightly in his sleep….

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**As always, I don't own 'em but I do love to play with 'em. And thanks to my beta, Red Hardy!**

**Close Encounters **

_Outside the Hardy house the wind rustled the autumn leaves on the old oak tree in the front yard. A small black cat ran across the street. A dog barked, once._

_And the wraith waited. _

_Anger seethed through its very presence; a hatred so powerful it kept the spirit unbound and restless…tormented. _

_Slowly, like poison through veins, the creature seeped into the walls, drawn to a light like a moth to a flame._

_Inside the house, safely ensconced in a warm bed, the 'light' tossed lightly in his sleep…_

**Chapter 14**

Dean lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep.

Next to him Sam twitched and moaned softly beneath the warm comforter and Dean turned his head to gaze at his brother's profile. In the dark it was hard to make out Sam's face but Dean took comfort in just knowing he was right beside him, although he frowned at the slightly congested sound of his brother's breathing. That last thing they needed, on top of everything else was for Sam to come down with a cold.

The boys already had enough explaining to do to their father when he called in the morning.

As per usual when the senior Winchester was on a 'hunt' aka bad-ass-ing the supernatural on a more intimate basis, John checked in with his sons every morning; after all, hunting ghosties was a job best done at night.

Dean sighed and turned his attention back to the stucco ceiling, frowning slightly as he wondered if his father was close to finishing his job upstate. Although shape shifters were sneaky bastards so it was hard to say.

The only thing the twenty-year-old knew for certain was that his father would not want him and Sam messing around with the wraith any further without him. There was a lot more power there than in any pissed-off poltergeist. Not that Dean was in any particular hurry to engage the creature right now anyway. His head still hurt…

Around them the large old house creaked and groaned as the wind howled outside, and the young demon hunter felt a coldness creep through his bones. He was unsettled, his instincts charged with the certainty that something was amiss – he just couldn't place his finger on what.

Sighing again, Dean gave up on sleeping and reached up to turn the lamp back on, knowing its meager light wouldn't disturb Sam. A lifetime of motels had developed a tolerance to other people being awake while they slept – oddly enough that privilege didn't extend beyond family, and if anything other than a Winchester moved, the sleepers were instantly alert.

The sandwiches Laura made were untouched on the tray and Dean grabbed one, his body finally realizing it was indeed very hungry. The coffee had already been drunk so he moved on to the hot, well, cold chocolate now, grimacing slightly at the sweetness. While he did have a sweet-tooth and would argue that M&M's were their own food group, that fancy didn't extend to beverages. He liked his coffee black.

Taking a bite of the sandwich he found himself oddly pensive as an old ache stirred in the pit of his stomach – Laura had cut the crusts off the bread. That was something his own mother used to do…

'_C'mon Dean, sweetie, lunch is ready…it's sandwiches and I made your favorite kind...' A round-bellied Mary sing-songed as she stood in the doorway of the playroom and smiled down at her precocious four-year old. _

_The child looked up from the toy truck he was pushing across the carpet and frowned – his young face serious as he scrutinized the woman smiling at him. 'Peanut butter and jelly?'_

'_With the crusts cut off,' Mary's blue eyes shone with affection. 'Just the way you like 'em.'_

_Dean pushed himself to feet. 'Goodie!' he yelled, running past the pregnant woman and pausing only long enough to kiss her heaving belly before hurrying the rest of the way to the kitchen. _

'_Dean, slow down, baby!' she called after the retreating preschooler. 'No running in the house…'_

Dean blinked hard and put the sandwich back down on the tray. It was very good but he suddenly wasn't very hungry anymore.

Checking on his brother once more, the young hunter pushed the comforter off his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed. He needed to pee.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank couldn't sleep. He tried to convince himself that he was just uneasy with the Winchesters staying here, as – really – they didn't know them that well. But deep down he knew it was more than that.

His father was away and whenever Fenton was gone, the eighteen-year-old took his responsibility as 'the man of the house' _very_ seriously. It was his job to look out for his brother and mom.

So when his eyes flicked to the clock and saw it was 3:51 AM, he forced himself up, unable to remember if the house alarm had been turned on or not. Of course, since he'd been the first one to go upstairs, he'd really have no way of knowing anyway but if it was left to Joe…well, the younger teen distracted easily. And their temporary houseguests were certainly a distraction, if nothing else.

Yawning, he plodded down the stairs, not bothering to turn on the lights. Having lived most of his life in this house, Frank could navigate across the room with his eyes closed.

Outside the wind howled, making the young sleuth shiver as he rubbed his bare arms and homed in on the gentle glow of the burglar alarm. Like his sibling, Frank's sleeping attire consisted of a thin t-shirt and track pants. Given it was late autumn though, he was seriously rethinking his nighttime wardrobe; the uncustomary chill in the dark house reinforcing the thinking.

Rolling his eyes when he saw the alarm was OFF, the dark-haired teen quickly punched in the code and then nodded his head in satisfaction; the Hardys were secured for another night.

Frank had just turned around to go back upstairs when a familiar and repetitive knocking coming from outside made him quietly groan. The clasp on the backyard gate had come unhitched and the wind was banging it against the frame.

He paused for a moment and then turned around and turned off the alarm again knowing that he had no choice; he had to go outside and close the gate. The last time they had had a windstorm the same thing had happened and the gate had come unlatched. No one had bothered to re-latch it then, though, and the dang thing had splintered the frame. He was not about to let it happen again.

So shaking his head and moving quietly, the teen detective crossed the living room and went through the kitchen towards the back door. It was the closest entrance to the gate and Frank didn't relish being outside any longer than he needed to be.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Dean shivered as he flushed the toilet. Damn it was cold in this house. _Didn't the Hardys pay their freakin' heating bill?_

Hurriedly washing and then drying his hands, the young man opened the door and stepped into the darkened hallway, anxious to get back to the room. He paused, his fingers reaching for the doorknob when the sound of a door quietly closing caught his keen hearing.

Cocking his head to the side, Dean teased his lip as he debated what to do. He was a guest here…but at the same time his brother was also here, so he was a guest with a vested interest in making sure things stayed okay. So without further thought, he slipped into predator mode and silently stalked the noise on the other side of the house.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What the—?" Frank frowned as he looked at the gate. He had been expecting to just close the gate, slip the latch into place and be on his merry way. But the gate wasn't banging because the latch was open. The gate was banging because the bolt had been knocked off – beaten off, he surmised grimly when he stooped down and inspected the offending piece of hardware more closely.

An uneasy feeling sent him spinning to his full height, his dark eyes prowling the darkness in search of the threat. He knew the difference between something _breaking_ off and something _being_ broken off. And taking into consideration the recently vandalized van, Frank knew this wasn't random. Someone was targeting them.

"Shit," he swore quietly deciding to leave dealing with the damaged gate until morning as he felt an overwhelming need to get back inside. He was too exposed out here…

Frank walked into the kitchen…and was grabbed.

Reflexively he twisted, slammed his elbow into his attacker's side. A gasp. A muttered curse…

But his assailant was strong and slammed him into the wall.

Grunting Frank struggled against the pressing weight, finally whirling around when his assailant released him. He froze not even daring to breathe!

Not two inches away from his face was the muzzle of a gun…

"Oh shit," he whispered and exhaled slowly as the gun was lowered. A moment later the kitchen light switched on and the scowling face of Dean Winchester stared at him incredulously:

"_Frank? What the f—"_

Frank almost punched him right then and there. And if not for the gun Dean was still holding, he just might have.

-----------------------

The wraith moved through the walls, oozing hatred and anger.

Closer and closer it got…

Drawn to the 'light'.

Knowing that once the 'light' was extinguished, the darkness would prevail….

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Yeah! The site is allowing word docs to be loaded again! Here is the next chapter. Thank you for all you wonderful comments, I have to admit in the beginning I wasn't sure how this story would be received. Also, a reminder, this is a sequel to First Impressions and refer to the boys first meeting, from time to time.**

**Please let me know what you think! **

**Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_The wraith moved through the walls, oozing hatred and anger._

_Closer and closer it got…_

_Drawn to the 'light'. _

_Knowing that once the 'light' was extinguished, the darkness would prevail…_

**Chapter 15**

"Would you put that thing away?!" Frank hissed. "What is it with you Winchesters and wanting to shoot me? I swear to God, every time I turn around one of you is holding a gun on me, and I'm not even the psychotic Hardy!"

"Geez, excuse me for thinking 'homeland security'," a rather sheepish looking Dean quipped even as he shoved the gun into the waistband of his track pants and pulled the shirt down to cover it. "I was taking a piss when I heard something….You're not a very stealthy detective are you?" He grinned at Frank's scowl.

"Bite me," Frank ground back and then paused. "Wait a sec – you took a gun to the bathroom with you? What were you expecting? That the toilet paper'd be possessed or something?"

"_Toilet paper_?" Dean asked, aghast. "What's that?"

Frank just shook his head and tried to keep the wisp of a smile off his face. "You're incorrigible."

"Why, thank you," the older man gave a little bow and then became serious. "Mind me asking about your late night stroll?"

The sleuth chewed his lip for a moment as he glanced at the back door. He sighed and then ran a hand through his dark hair. "The backyard gate was banging so I thought I'd close it. I had thought that maybe the latch had come undone or something…"

"But?" Dean pressed, knowing there was more; his own gaze flickered to the door.

"But it wasn't undone….The hardware'd been busted off." Frank regarded the demon hunter. "Deliberately."

Dean didn't ask how the young detective knew, trusting Frank's instincts on this. "Not a great night for the Hardys then….First slashed tires and now a broken gate? You kids got your own nasties haunting your asses?"

"Well," Frank hedged. "Let's just say that there are certain types of people who mightn't be too disappointed if anything happened to us."

"Ah," the hunter nodded in understanding. "And maybe even a few who might not mind being behind one of those 'anythings'?"

The dark haired Hardy shrugged. "Yeah. Pretty much so."

"Well, that sucks," Dean summed it up and then rubbed a hand across his face. "So what do you want to do?"

Frank looked shocked that Dean was deferring to him but the way the older Winchester figured it, this was Frank's house and Frank's family. So it was Frank's call.

"I don't know," the dark haired teen said after a few moments. "The house alarm _was_ off—"

"So someone could have gotten in," the hunter finished grimly.

For a moment neither young man said anything and then Frank sighed and started to ask:

"Hey, Dean…" The sleuth shifted a bit awkwardly; Dean held up a hand waving off the rest of the request.

"You don't even need to ask. I've got your back," the older Winchester promised.

Frank flashed a quick grateful smile and then glanced around the kitchen, "Let's check out the basement first."

Dean nodded and followed the older Hardy hoping that the Hardys' troubles were what was niggling him…he just wasn't sure though whether it being 'people' trouble made things better or worse.

Rock salt only repelled certain kinds of evil.

He thought about his brother but was confident that Sam would be all right for a few minutes longer. A confidence bolstered by the hunting knife still safely stowed away beneath his pillow.

Dean's pillow. Dean's knife. Dean's habit…

And _if_ there were any kind of trouble, Sam would look to his brother first, and in place of Dean, the kid would go for the knife.

There actually was some benefit to the way their father had raised them….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam woke with a start, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

Bolting upright, he stifled a groan as his bruised ribs screamed at him, protesting any kind of movement. Wincing, he gingerly wrapped an arm around his midsection and glanced around the dimly-lit room. "Dean?" he called out quietly when he didn't see his brother.

A gazillion painted faces smiled at him and he shivered, unnerved. The ceramic collection was downright freaky as they cast little doll shadows around the lamp-lit room.

Sliding his bandaged hand beneath his brother's pillow, Sam took comfort in the feel of the cold steel. Wherever Dean had gone, he hadn't left him unprotected. _Maybe a bathroom run?_

Listening intently as the wind buffeted the house, the sixteen year old couldn't place his finger on exactly what it was but he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Every hair on his body tingled with charged electricity as his hazel eyes darted around the room, trying to ignore the dolls, but he kept getting drawn back to them—

Slowly pushing the blankets off his long legs, Sam pulled the knife out from beneath the pillow and started to stand up…

"Hello?" he called out, still keeping his voice low. "Who's there?" The young hunter wasn't sure if he wanted anyone to answer or not.

Approaching the collection, Sam reached out with a trembling hand; one of them had been knocked over—

And then he recoiled, stumbling over his feet and landing hard on his ass as the mocking face of a clown doll loomed in front of him.

"NO!" he yelled, staggering to his feet and bolting towards the door and then into the hall. Slamming the door shut, he pressed his back against it for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The doorknob twisted behind him and he whirled around, his eyes wide and the knife held out in front of him—

"Sam?" Laura's sleepy voice startled him. "Are you okay?"

He looked at her and then back at the door. The knob was no longer moving. Before he could say anything, the sound of pounding feet heralded Dean's arrival.

"Sam!" he shouted, his gun drawn, and Frank right behind him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam managed hoarsely, not wanting to say anything in front of the Hardys.

Laura's eyes widened, her gaze going from Sam's knife to Dean's gun, and finally landing on her oldest son. "Frank," she said, her tone cool, her manner unflappable, "Is there something you want to tell me about your new friends?"

"Uh," Frank gaped at his mother for a moment and then blinked, "No. Not really..."

The pretty blond raised her eyebrow in disbelief.

"Well," her son tried again. "The gun isn't loaded with bullets."

"It isn't?" Laura glanced at the gun.

"No it isn't. It's loaded with salt – it won't hurt anyone," Frank didn't' sound convincing in the least.

"Rock salt," Dean felt the need to correct. "And I'll have you know a chest load hurts like a bitc – I mean it hurts a bit." He gave Laura his most charming smile.

Sam tried to hide the knife, and succeeded in jabbing himself in the finger with it.

Dean gave him a disbelieving look and snatched it from him, bringing Laura's attention back to the knife.

"Oh and I suppose that's a rubber knife then too?" she challenged and the younger Winchester couldn't help but feel she was enjoying watching them squirm.

"Oh no," Dean 'helped' again. "It's real. Sam, show her your finger—" he snatched the younger teen's hand quickly and added, "and not _that_ one!"

"Okay, you know what?" Laura rolled her eyes and sighed. "It is way too late for this. So I'll cut you _another _break," she stared at her son pointedly, "you have until morning to get your stories straight—" she paused and glanced around. Sam did too and only then realized that someone was missing—

"Where's Joe?" Laura asked, voicing the very same thing the younger hunter was thinking.

Frank and Dean looked around now too. That was an excellent question. He should have come downstairs by now to see what all the commotion was about…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"_NO!"_

Sam's outcry yanked Joe from his sleep and he was on his feet and headed towards the hall on instinct – not even fully awake yet.

He never saw the shadow until it was too late and after a brief struggle, he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Joe had one final fleeting thought.

_God…I hate chloroform._

…

The unconscious teen was unceremoniously dragged back into his own room. The door was closed. The lock locked.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank got to Joe's room first. As he tried the door, Laura wrinkled up her nose. "What _is_ that smell?"

Inhaling deeply, Sam looked at Dean, horrified—

Smoke.

Dean made for the door but Frank was faster. One powerful kick from the black-belt, and the door was off its hinges.

"Oh my God!" Laura's eyes widened in fear – Joe's room was on fire!

**_TBC - Sorry about the cliffie but it couldn't be helped, lol!_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Oh my poor beta. Writing with a nasty head cold, I certainly gave her skills a workout today! So once again, thank you Red Hardy. You are a brave woman! And thank you to everyone for your encouragement. I hope you like this chapter. Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_Frank got to Joe's room first. As he tried the door, Laura wrinkled up her nose. "What is that smell?"_

_Inhaling deeply, Sam looked at Dean, horrified – _

_Smoke._

_Dean made for the door but Frank was faster. One powerful kick from the black-belt, and the door was off its hinges._

"_Oh my God!" Laura's eyes widened in fear – Joe's room was on fire!_

**Chapter 16**

For one moment no one moved and then everything happened at once.

Frank burst into the room. He had to get his brother –

Laura ran for the fire extinguisher. The boys had one in their bathroom. She went through Frank's room –

Dean started after Frank but a movement out of the corner of his eye had him sprinting in the opposite direction of Laura –

And Sam just stood there, his hazel eyes wide in horror, but the fire he was seeing was not this one…

_An older Sam lay on his back, a contented smile on his face._

_A drop of something wet on his forehead. He frowns. His eyes open – he yells and tries to crab crawl away…_

_Shock._

_Horror._

Sam shook his head. "No," he whispered in denial but the images continue; a brutal mental assault in vivid detail.

_On the ceiling. Above him –_

_A beautiful blond girl… _

_Her stomach slashed and bleeding. _

_Her blood bleeding on him. _

_Her eyes open in horror –_

_Staring at him. Begging him. _

'_Save me, Sam'_

_He can't._

_She bursts into fire._

_And once again, Dean pulls him from the flame…_

"Jessica," Sam whispered as he sunk down into a crouch. His back was pressed against the wall, his arms wrapped tightly around his injured sides; his fire is not here.

He didn't recognize the girl. The name. Or himself.

…

"JOE!" Frank coughed as he forced his way towards the bed in the center of the room. There was a lot of smoke but he couldn't see exactly where it was coming from. But he did see the prone figure of his brother spread eagled on the bed, and it propelled him through the suffocating haze.

Without pausing, Frank grabbed his brother and pulled Joe across his shoulders, hurrying for the door just as his mother rushed in with a fire extinguisher.

"Where's the fire?" Laura bellowed as she passed Frank, moving over to let her sons out of the room.

"I don't know," Frank yelled back as he gently lowered Joe to the floor so he could check his breathing. "Damnit," he hissed a few moments later when his brother's chest didn't rise.

Frank's fingers fumbled against his brother's neck.

_Shit._

No pulse.

Quickly he positioned the younger teen for rescue breathing.

…

Sam blinked, his stupor broken, the images forgotten when he heard Frank curse. He crawled towards the Hardys to help when he realized that Joe wasn't breathing. Like Dean, he was well versed in CPR and first aid.

Lacing his fingers together, he positioned himself next to Joe and started chest compressions, wincing through his own injuries. He and Frank counted them off together before Frank breathed for his brother again.

"C'mon, c'mon," the eighteen year old gasped in between breaths. "Breathe, damnit. Breathe!" The sound of the fire extinguisher added its own macabre mantra.

Just as Joe took in a choked wheezing gasp, Laura dropped to her knees next to them. Sam scuttled out of the way for her, his hazel eyes darted around noticing for the first time a distinct lack of Dean.

"Where's Dean?" he asked, glancing fearfully at the smoke filled room behind them.

Laura looked up at Sam, her pretty face smoke smudged. "He's not in there, sweetie," she assured.

Sam levered himself to his feet as quickly as he could and called out, "Dean? Dean!" He listened but heard nothing except Joe's labored breathing.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

'_What the hell?'_ Dean thought as he chased the moving shape through the master bedroom and it pretty much just threw itself out a window.

Pausing only long enough to be sure he wasn't about to jump to his death, Dean followed suit, cursing just about everything he could think of as his feet slipped before finding purchase on the roof outside the window.

"I hate heights," he growled. "I hate old houses. I hate old _Victorian_ houses. I hate -" his litany of dislikes kept him occupied as he slipped and slid his way after the intruder.

A large branch overhung a section of roof giving both Joe's attacker and Dean an expedited route down. And the chase turned into a track meet as the dark sharp sprinted down the street, an increasingly pissed off Winchester in hot pursuit.

The guy was fast but Dean was faster and would have caught him except for one thing –

The guy had a get-away car.

"God-damnit!" the incensed hunter yelled as his quarry dove into a dark colored car and the vehicle peeled out of sight.

Dean bent over, his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. One good thing he had to say about his usual prey – most supernatural things didn't run… away.

Straightening up with a groan, the young man turned around and jogged back towards the house. He hoped Joe was okay. He kinda liked the kid and all…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What happened?" Frank asked as he helped his brother sit up. Laura passed Joe a glass of water and the blond teen took it gratefully. Drinking it all down before answering his brother.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I heard Sam -" he glanced at the youngest Winchester. "You okay?" The sixteen year old nodded and, satisfied, Joe continued. "But only got as far as the stairs. Someone chloroformed me." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, his hand moving towards his stomach. "I hate chloroform."

Laura patted his arm, consoling, but before she could say anything, they heard a loud banging at the front door.

"Dean," Sam guessed moving towards the stairs but Frank caught his arm.

"Stay with Mom and Joe," his tone brooked no argument. "I'll check it out."

Sam started to protest but something about the look on Frank's face belied the argument so he just nodded and then crouched back down next to Joe.

He kept a watchful gaze on the stairs though, only breathing a sigh of relief when he heard his older brother's voice.

Moments later a winded Dean topped the stairs, followed closely by Frank.

"He got away," Dean grumbled. "Stupid ass had a get-away car."

"He?" Joe looked up at Dean.

"Yeah. I saw someone in the hallway – figured he was the guy who set the fire," the older Winchester looked towards Joe's room. "How bad?" he asked.

"Actually," Laura frowned, "it was mostly smoke, no actual fire damage other than a singed spot on the carpet."

Nodding, Dean moved into the room to take a closer look himself. He frowned as he crouched down near the damaged flooring. He lightly raked his fingers through the charred remains and his frown grew.

"What?" Frank asked, coming into the room behind him and seeing the look on Dean's face.

Dean looked up at him. "It's paper. It smokes but it'd take a lot more than this to set a blaze."

Now it was Frank who frowned, catching the implication immediately. "A warning?" he voiced aloud.

The hunter rose and shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. You're the detective. You tell me."

"Joe could have been killed," Frank mused, "But-"

"But your safety-first house has smoke detectors and this fire was meant to be smoky," Dean finished the thought.

Frank conceded with a nod.

"Well you can look on the bright side," the other man offered, flashing a cocky grin, pausing a heartbeat and then continuing. "It isn't our wraith!"

The dark haired Hardy gave him a disbelieving look and then left the room.

"Was it something I said?" Dean called after him before following, glancing around the room once more as he left.

…

Downstairs in the guest room, the little clown doll crawled up the side of the bed and tucked itself under the covers…

TBC** - **


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry for the delay but I first I was sick and then my laptop got a virus and I only got it back from the 'doctor' last night! I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_Downstairs in the guest room, the little clown doll crawled up the side of the bed and tucked itself under the covers… _

**Chapter 17**

Now that the adrenaline rush had weaved out of Sam Winchester's body all his aches, pains and sheer exhaustion overwhelmed him.

He wanted to go back to bed but the unsettling events of the night left him wary. Something had been in his room. He knew it but as of yet had not been able to talk to Dean about it.

So instead he sank down to the floor, rested his head on his arms and waited while Dean finished speaking with the Hardys.

…

It was six a.m. before everything was settled and the brothers made their way back to the guestroom.

Dean had spoken briefly with the two police officers who had come to investigate the break-in and subsequent attack on the younger Hardy but he kept things as low key as possible; their father's unorthodox parenting necessitated caution when dealing with the police. Sam was still a minor and the last thing they needed was for their family to fall under the scrutiny of the 'authorities'.

While John Winchester loved his boys and would never intentionally harm them, his choice of lifestyle was controversial at best.

Dean had just reached towards the bedroom door when Sam's hand shot out and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Sammy?" he turned a questioning gaze on the teen. "What now?" He was tired, his body begging for rest.

"Dean," Sam's voice was barely a whisper and the older hunter had to strain to hear. "There's something in that room!"

The young man frowned at his brother. "What?"

"I dunno," Sam admitted. "But when I woke up – I dunno," he repeated at a loss of how to explain it. "But there was something!"

Pursing his lips unhappily, Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "That's kinda vague, Sam."

"I know," Sam admitted miserably. He eyed the closed door with palpable apprehension.

"Did you see anything?" the older hunter pressed.

"Ah. Well. Maybe… kinda," Sam hedged, reluctant to admit about the doll freaking him out. Dean would torment the living life out of him if he found out.

"Sam." Dean raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. He knew his brother too well. "Spit it out."

"Okay. Fine," Sam bit the bullet, "There was a freaky clown doll and the thing attacked me!"

Stunned was about the closest the sixteen year old could come to placing the look on his brother's face. Obviously THAT was not what Dean had been expecting to hear.

"Huh," the older sibling finally remarked with just enough disbelief in his tone to make Sam want to smack him. "A clown doll _attacked_ you?"

Sam glared at his brother. "Yes."

Sighing again, Dean ran a hand across his face scrubbing at the tiredness that aged his features. "Okay, kid." He glanced across the hallway towards the empty bathroom. "Wait in there."

"What?" Now it was Sam's turn to frown. He shook his head. "Uh uh. No way. You're not going in there by yourself!" Even injured he'd still have his brother's back. That was what they did.

Dean studied him for a moment before glancing towards the living room when he heard Frank tell his mother that the alarm had been set and then go back upstairs. Joe had already gone up to lie down, his stomach still queasy from the chloroform. _The Winchesters weren't the only brothers bunking together now…_

He turned back towards his brother. "Fine. But stay behind me."

Sam nodded. Dean'd get no argument from him. Not when a clown was involved – even a porcelain one.

"Can I have your knife or something?" the teen hissed as Dean reached for the doorknob again.

"Not likely, butter fingers," Dean snorted and then making sure that Sam stayed behind him, he pushed open the bedroom door.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

After checking on Joe, Frank dropped down heavily on the bed and slowly stretched out, unconcerned about waking his brother as the younger detective was a heavy sleeper, trusting an eerie intuition to wake him if need be. And so far that instinct had yet to fail him.

The dark haired eighteen-year-old sighed wearily and closed his eyes hoping to catch a couple more hours of sleep. But instead of slumber, his mind raced.

_Who had slashed their tires?_

_Who had broken into their house?_

_Was the attack on Joe just a warning or a botched attempt at something more nefarious?_

_Did it have anything to do with the Winchesters? _

The last thought caught Frank off-guard at first. However as a thorough and methodical thinker, he couldn't let the possibility go unconsidered.

He didn't believe in coincidences.

_Sam_ could have slipped back to the van and took out the tires while he and Dean were 'looking' for him.

Joe's 'assailant' didn't have to break into the house if he was already in.

Dean was the only one who had seen the attacker.

Hell, just because Joe said otherwise, it _might_ have been the younger Winchester that knocked Joe out in the gully.

The more Frank considered things, the more plausible Winchester involvement became… Hell, his mind put together a great case.

But something just didn't feel right…

Although not as intuitive as Joe or their mother, Frank still had good instincts and trusted them. So after carefully pondering the events of the last few hours, he shook his head and dislodged the thought.

Contrary to speculation, Frank could not believe either Dean or Sam had anything to do with what had happened tonight. Well, except that whole van rocking thing but the practical Hardy wasn't quite willing to go into thought about that just yet –

That consideration needed a lot more sleep or coffee.

Checking on his younger brother one more time and satisfied that Joe was indeed okay, Frank finally let his body relax and succumb to the beckoning darkness…

God, he was tired.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the room except that it was still cold.

"Man, this place is a friggin' cryogenic chamber," Dean groused as he rubbed his arms vigorously. "I bet the Hardy's aunt is like 100 but looks 16 or something."

Sam frowned. "I doubt that," he said, seriously as he sank down on the edge of the bed. He glanced around the room, trying to keep how unnerved he was feeling out of his voice. "Uh, Dean? Where's the doll?"

Dean moved towards the collection, scowling at the staring faces. He roughly moved them aside the scowl dropping from his face when he finally turned back to his brother. "I don't know," he admitted.

Crouching down next to the bed, he lifted the ruffled white bedskirt up – but still, no doll. "Okay," he said slowly as he stood back up. "This is seriously starting to creep _me _out. Where the hell is that thing?"

Sam stifled a yawn and then stood up. He glanced at the door. "I need to pee."

"Well you don't need my permission," Dean retorted, distracted by the missing collectable.

The younger hunter made a rude hand gesture and moved towards the door.

…

"Creepy old house," Dean muttered to himself as he stalked around the room still looking for that doll. "Creepy little doll…" exasperated, he sat down on the bed and then stretched out and looked up at the ceiling. "Creepy stucco ceiling…" and then he felt something under his back. Under the comforter.

Standing up, he yanked the bed covering down and then just gawked –

There, in the center of the bed. Just as pretty as you please was the freaky little clown doll.

Dean reached out and grabbed it, eyeing the thing with contempt. "Oh no you don't." he growled, wondering how the hell the thing had gotten there. "No giving Sammy a heart-attack when he gets in bed. That's a major, no-no… I'm too old to be an only child."

Hearing the toilet flush and knowing his brother would be back any moment, Dean did the only thing he could think of. He shoved the doll down his pants and jumped into the bed.

…

The wraith hated the hunter.

The hunter protected the 'light'…

Fleeing the toy, it sought out the walls.

_Soon_… it whispered; an icy breath throughout the house.

_S_oon.

**TBC - and to clarify, when Dean was surprised that Sam was attacked by the doll, it wasn't the doll itself that he was surprised about - as he had known it was there - but the fact that Sam said it 'attacked' him :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**_You can thank my beta for Dean's inspiration as to where to put that doll. It is part of my never ending quest to see how much orange juice I can make her spit on her keyboard :P Poor girl. Being my beta is not a job for the feint at heart... Thank you, Red Hardy! Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. Phoenix_**

**Close Encounters **

_The wraith hated the hunter. _

_The hunter protected the 'light'…_

_Fleeing the toy, it sought out the walls._

_Soon… it whispered; an icy breath throughout the house. _

_Soon._

**Chapter 18**

The sound of his cell phone roused Dean. He knew without even looking who it would be – their Dad, the great and mighty demon hunter. John Winchester.

That also meant it was ten a.m. John always checked in with them at ten a.m.

Immediately awake, Dean sat up in the bed and groped for his phone, not at all surprised when Sam didn't even stir.

"'Morning, Dad," the young man greeted, "how's the hunt going?"

…_Not as quickly as I'd like… are you and Sam okay for a couple more days?..._

Dean winced and scrubbed at his face. That wasn't the answer he had been hoping for; however he knew the response his father expected and nodded, although the older hunter couldn't see. "Yes, sir."

…_Good. I'll check in tomorrow… _

And then John was gone; an empty dial tone in his older son's ear.

Frowning, the young man sighed and put the phone back on the edge of the dresser. He glanced at Sam, surprised to see hazel eyes watching him carefully.

"He didn't even ask about our job," Sam stated, watching his brother so intensely the older hunter had to look away.

Dean didn't bother to answer. There was no point. Sam had heard his side of the conversation and could hazard a guess at what their father said – or rather – what their father didn't say.

"He didn't ask how we were either did he?" Sam tried to force an answer.

"He's _busy_, Sam," Dean's voice was hard. This was a conversation he didn't want to have with his brother but apparently the younger boy didn't have the same compunction.

"He's our Dad, Dean," Sam pushed, his gaze didn't waver.

Dean shoved the blankets off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned. Sam just didn't understand and Dean didn't have the patience to go another twenty rounds of 'bad Daddy' this morning.

John loved his sons and that was good enough for Dean. Unfortunately things were not so black and white for Sam.

"Dean -" the sixteen year old's voice made him stiffen.

"Drop it, Sam," he growled, trying to be inconspicuous as he removed the dratted doll from his pants. He'd meant to do it after his brother had come to bed and fallen asleep, but he had passed out himself almost immediately.

"Why didn't you tell him about the wraith?" Sam persisted.

"Do the words 'dog' and 'bone' mean anything to you?" Dean snapped as he managed to pull out the clown. The thing looked even freakier in the mid morning light. _What was he supposed to do with it, now?_ "Consider your answer carefully, kid, cause I haven't had my morning coffee yet."

A hacking cough made him turn around, surreptitiously dropping the doll onto the floor and then kicking it under the bed. "You okay?"

Sam gave him a scouring look as he held his ribs. Dean winced in sympathy knowing how painful coughing through sore ribs could be.

Taking in his brother's battered body, Dean plucked the bottle of aspirin out of the first aid kit and popped the lid off, shaking out two pills and then holding them out.

"I'm fine," the teen finally managed as he took the offered relief and dry swallowed the pills.

Dean gave him a disbelieving look but didn't push the issue. It was a moot point. He'd grab some cough suppressant when they were out.

"Good," he quipped instead, grimacing as he looked down at the borrowed clothes he was wearing. "You okay here by yourself for a bit while I go see what I can do about getting back into my own pants?"

Sam chuckled softly, his dimples briefly lighting his face. "Dude, that just sounded soooo wrong!"

Dean flashed a cocky grin and headed for the door. "Yeah. Well. It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it…" His brother's laughter followed him into the hallway.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank and Laura Hardy were in the kitchen when Dean pushed open the swinging door.

"Good morning, Dean," Laura smiled brightly as she stood up and beckoned for him to sit at the table. She moved towards the counter where a pot of fresh brewed sat, its aroma tickled the hunter's nose. "Sit. Coffee?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean said politely, his hazel green eyes following her every move. Laura Hardy reminded him of his own mother, both physically and in mannerism, and it stirred a sixteen year old ache.

Laura poured him a cup and then indicated the milk and sugar but Dean shook his head. "Black is fine." He glanced around. "Where's Joe?"

"Sleeping," Frank said, blowing on his own black coffee before taking a sip. "And Sam?"

"Not sleeping," Dean replied and then added smoothly. "He's a bit shy about some things, so I told him I'd check out the clothes situation."

"Everything is clean and dry," Laura told him as she started to pour some batter onto a grill. "I left them on the end of the couch in the living room. Oh… and I'm sorry, I forgot to ask – do you like pancakes? I'm making some for breakfast, but I can put on a couple of eggs or something if you'd prefer."

Dean stared at her for a moment…

'_Dean, honey, do you want pancakes or eggs?' Mary smiled at the little boy as she tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear. _

"Dean?"

Dean blinked and realized Frank was talking to him. "Huh? I'm sorry… what?"

"I was saying you should try the pancakes. No one makes 'em like my Mom."

Laura blushed and smiled at her son.

"Sure. Yeah. I'm sorry," Dean rose awkwardly from the table. "I'll be right back – I, ah, I need to take Sammy his clothes." He was out of the kitchen before either Hardy could respond.

…

"Well that was weird," Frank commented, his eyes on the swinging door.

Laura frowned, but didn't say anything. For one brief moment she had seen such a flash of raw pain on Dean's face that it stirred something deep inside –

"Mom? You okay?"

The woman shook her head slightly and then gave Frank a warm smile. "Yes, sweetie I'm fine. Why don't you go wake up your brother – you know how grumpy Joe can be if his pancakes are cold."

Frank chuckled and stood up from the table. "Yeah and a grumpy Joe makes a very long day for Frank."

Laura laughed and turned back to the grill.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe was awake when Frank went into the room.

"Hey lazybones," the older Hardy razzed as he saw his brother sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his arm. "Is that still bothering you?"

"Yeah," Joe admitted grimacing as his fingers lightly moved over the 'burn'. "Damn thing itches now."

Frank frowned, "Let me see," and crouched down next to his brother taking another look at the mark on Joe's arm. "I still don't get it. It looks like a burn…"

"And feels like one," Joe groused and then sighed and pulled his shirt sleeve down. "We should ask Dean to give us a ride back to the van this morning."

"Maybe," Frank agreed standing up and watching his brother pull on a pair of socks. "So you had any grand inspirations about who might be behind all this?"

"No. Not particularly," the blond teen admitted, now fully dressed and ready to go downstairs. "You?"

"Well, the Winchesters _were _my best suspects," Frank admitted honestly and then shrugged at the look his brother gave him. "Yeah. I know. I didn't believe it either so that leaves me with a whole lot of nothing… or a whole bunch of something."

"Everyone's a suspect," Joe surmised grimly.

"Yup." The dark haired Hardy quipped.

"That really sucks." The seventeen year old grumbled as he started out of the bedroom.

"I couldn't have said it any better myself, little brother." Frank agreed as he closed the door and followed his brother down the stairs.

Something told him that this was going to be a very long day…

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Close Encounters **

"_Everyone's a suspect," Joe surmised grimly._

"_Yup." The dark haired Hardy quipped._

"_That really sucks." The seventeen year old grumbled as he started out of the bedroom._

"_I couldn't have said it any better myself, little brother." Frank agreed as he closed the door and followed his brother down the stairs._

_Something told him that this was going to be a very long day…_

**Chapter 19**

Joe was just finishing his second plate of pancakes when the Winchesters arrived.

Laura smiled at their guests her eyes softening in sympathy as she got a good look at the haggard and bruised younger teen. Sam looked like absolute crap, the mid morning brightness accentuating every mark, not at all helped by his paleness.

He returned the smile as he slid into an empty spot next to Joe. Dean sat down at the head of the table boxing Sam in.

"I hope you boys are hungry. I've made plenty," Laura assured them already busy passing a heaping plate of the flapjacks to Dean. "So don't be shy."

"Well," Dean drawled accepting the plate and flashing a killer smile, "I've been accused of many things in my day… but being shy isn't one of them."

Joe took a sip of orange juice to hide the grin when the younger Winchester rolled his eyes.

"You boys are a sorry lot," Laura commented as she sat down opposite Dean and took a sip of tea. Her bright blue eyes roved the four faces in front of her. Joe ducked his head, suddenly very interested in the remaining pieces of pancake on his plate – he knew what was coming. "So have you had a chance yet to get your story straight?" the casualness of her tone belied the start of the 'interrogation'.

On the other side of Joe, Frank squirmed under his mother's scrutiny. "Ah, actually, Mom… well…" The younger teen saw his brother glance at him for help and then glare when he noticed that he wasn't about to get any. "No."

Laura raised an eyebrow, amused. "No?"

"Well," Frank doggedly pushed on. It was actually painful for Joe to hear but he honestly couldn't think of anything to say that might help. "In our defense, we – uh – really haven't had the time?" His 'defense' lacked luster as it came out more a question than a response.

"Hmmm…" the blond woman tapped her chin thoughtfully for a moment and then turned the 'inquisition' to the other brothers. "What do you think, Dean? Sam?"

"No disrespect meant ma'am," Dean schmoozed as he shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth. He chewed as he spoke, "but if I told you the truth, then I'd have to kill ya." He swallowed and then gave her his most charming smile.

Frank frowned at him but Laura just put her hand in front of her mouth, and Joe knew she was trying unsuccessfully to smother a smile. "Oooh… is that so?"

"Actually," Sam's voice was soft as he spoke for the first time. "It's my fault." All eyes turned to the younger Winchester in surprise and he gave a sheepish grimace. "We were passing through on our way upstate to meet our Dad when I overheard some guys talking about a haunted house," his voice rang with unabashed sincerity and Joe found himself listening intently, "and I just hadda see it." Soulful hazel eyes locked onto Laura's. "I've always had a thing for haunted houses -" A snicker from Dean was ignored. "So I made Dean take me."

Joe glanced at his mother and saw she was fully enthralled by what Sam was saying. Not hard to be, he decided, taking in the 'lost little waif' look the dark haired kid had going for him. There was just something about Sam that screamed 'vulnerability', and boy did that kid seem to know how to work it. Mind you, the battered face really helped push the issue…

Sam continued. "We got separated in the house and I kinda…" the kid lowered his voice and leaned into Laura as if embarrassed to make the admittance, "freaked out… and tried to get back to our car. But I got turned around and ended up taking a tumble."

"Yeah and I," Dean picked up the story with gusto, running a forkful of pancake around his plate to sop up as much syrup as possible, "managed to flag down Frank and Joe to help me look," he smirked at Frank, "which wasn't an easy feat since Frank drives like a madman and he just about ran me over!"

"_Mom_!" Frank protested, horrified. "I wasn't even driving!"

"Were too," Joe backed up the story with a grin as he slapped his brother on the shoulder. He was enjoying watching Frank squirm. That, and he could tell that while his mother was entranced with the Winchesters, she wasn't buying the story.

"Joe!"

"Frank."

"Speaking of driving," Laura interrupted. "Where exactly is the van? I didn't hear you pull up last night and I don't see it out in the driveway."

"It got a flat," Frank quickly explained and Joe chuckled knowing that his brother was not about to let the Winchesters create a cover story for that as well.

"Speaking of which," Joe turned to Dean, "would you mind giving us a lift back? If it's not out of your way or anything…"

Dean glanced at Sam who shrugged and winced.

"That's fine," he said reaching for another pancake. He looked at Frank, "Dude, you weren't jazzing when you said your mom's grub was good." He smiled at Laura and Joe was amused to see his mother blush. "You could make a fortune off these things!"

"I'm glad someone is enjoying them," Laura teased, obviously pleased to see Dean working his way through another stack.

Sam, on the other hand –

"Are you okay, Sam?" the astute woman had noticed as well. "You've hardly eaten anything…"

And it was true. While he had taken a pancake – and been given a second by his brother – Sam had only taken a few bites.

"I'm sorry," the sixteen year old apologized, "I'm just not very hungry."

"Eat, Sam," Dean ordered, drinking down the rest of his coffee.

"I'm not hungry, _Dean_," Sam glared at his brother, his tone defiant.

Joe watched the interaction with interest. He got the distinct impression that the younger teen didn't appreciate being told what to do – not when it wasn't a life and death thing anyways.

"You haven't eaten since supper, Sam," Dean continued, unfazed. "And if you go passing out or something Dad'll have my ass in a sling… And I kinda prefer it holding up my pants, if it's all the same to you."

Sam opened up his mouth to counter when he started to cough, gulping down his glass of orange juice when the fit finally stopped.

"I hate to interrupt," Frank started before the brothers could continue their 'debate', "but can we finish up here? I'd really like to get back to the van."

"Good idea," Dean agreed, pushing his empty plate away. "Once Sammy eats his breakfast, we can go."

"I have a suggestion," Laura inserted. "Why don't you, Dean, give Frank and Joe a ride to the van, while Sam stays here."

"No way," Dean immediately shook his head. "I mean we appreciate you letting us stay here last night and giving us breakfast and all, but we can't intrude any further. Once we drop your boys off, we'll be on our way."

"I don't think that is a good idea," the determined woman continued. Joe and Frank exchanged a look. "Sam is hurt-"

"I'm okay," Sam spoke up. Both Laura and Dean looked at him in disbelief. "I am," he asserted and then coughed again.

"And sick," the woman added. "He needs to rest."

"I know what my brother needs and he needs to be with me," Dean stood up, his voice a possessive growl, "I take care of Sammy."

Laura also stood.

Joe tensed.

Frank sighed.

Sam coughed.

"Please Dean," the woman's intense gaze bored into the hard green eyes, "I am not insinuating anything but take a good look at your brother… He isn't well and what kind of mother would I be if I let him go traipsing when he can just wait here – get some more sleep and take it easy – until you get back? Then you guys can go meet your father or whatever…"

Dean did look at his brother and Joe could easily see the conflict on his face. Finally he looked back at Laura. "You're not our mother," his words were quiet.

"No, I'm not," the woman responded gently, "but I am a mother and sometimes when little boys are sick… _that_ is what they need."

An intense pain so fleeting that it might have been imagined passed over Dean's face. Sam reached out and touched his brother's arm, his face more expressive than any words could ever be.

"Sammy…" Dean's voice trailed off as he exhaled loudly and then scrubbed a hand across his face.

"We could use the extra room for the tires," Joe decided to help.

"Tires?" Laura turned towards her own sons picking up on the use of the plural. "I thought you had 'a' flat – is there more than one?"

"Uh," Joe looked at Frank for help but it was his brother's turn to give him the 'you're on your own, mister' look. "Well… yeah."

The woman sighed softly. "Do I really want to know?"

"No. Probably not," Joe replied, relieved when his mother didn't press the issue.

"Fine. You can talk to your father about it when he gets home tonight," Laura decided, she turned to the Winchesters again. "Dean?"

"It'll be okay," Sam gave his brother's arm a squeeze and then let go, "I'll be okay."

Joe couldn't help but wonder what exactly they thought might happen if Sam stayed here while Dean went with them.

With great reluctance Dean finally nodded his head.

"Okay," he exhaled loudly, "but I swear to God, Sammy, if Dad ever finds out-"

"Don't worry, Dean," Sam gave him a lopsided smile, "what can possibly go wrong?"

The glare that the older Winchester shot his brother spoke volumes… and even Joe thought _'don't tempt fate, Sammy…_'

…

Ten minutes later Joe and Frank left with Dean.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Alerts are still down. What a bummer. Oh well for anyone who finds this chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) **

**Also, some reviewers have mentioned an interest in reading more Hardy Boys or re-reading, if the case may be, and I suggest you try the fan fiction on hardydetectiveagency dot com in place of actual published works. **

**While I do enjoy the bluespines (the original Hardy Boys), there if very little emotional interaction between the characters - except in a few books. And while the Casefiles does have more emotion, I find the characterizations of the brothers change to abruptly from one book to the next - Joe is often 'dumbed down' while Frank is 'over geeked'. However, do not let that dissuade you if you enjoy the mysteries :) **

**On the above mentioned site, the stories are well written and have much more emotion and personal interaction. There are also guidelines which are adhered to that prohibit stories where either Frank or Joe are killed. So no dead-Hardy stories; no Mary Sue's.**

**Anyway, the library is substantial so if you would like recommendations of where to start, you can PM me and tell me the brother of your preference - are you a Frank-ette or a Joe-ette? And I can direct you to the authors stories who cater to your flavor.**

**Enough from me! Enjoy!!**

**Close Encounters **

"_Don't worry, Dean," Sam gave him a lopsided smile, "what can possibly go wrong?"_

_The glare that the older Winchester shot his brother spoke volumes… and even Joe thought 'don't tempt fate, Sammy…'_

…

_Ten minutes later Joe and Frank left with Dean._

**Chapter 20**

"Why don't you go lie down for a while?" Laura Hardy asked as the Impala left the front of the house. She closed the front door and turned towards the remaining teen.

Sam cast a glance towards the room he and his brother had been sharing and the intuitive woman got the distinct impression that he was uneasy about something but whether it was about being in the room alone, or his brother leaving she was unsure. She decided to offer a solution to compensate for both:

"Or better yet, why don't you lie down on the couch?" she indicated a comfortable looking sofa in the middle of the living room. "That way you can keep me company, too, until your brother gets back."

The sixteen year old studied the piece of furniture for a moment and then turned a reticent gaze on her. His words were low and softly accentuated with a slight mid-western drawl, "I don't want to be any bother."

Laura's heart broke for him. He was just so – so sweet and she resisted a strong urge to reach out and brush the bangs out of his eyes. This wasn't one of her sons…

"Oh honey," her face softened, "you won't be any bother… Now come on, lie down before you fall down, and I'll get you a pillow and blanket."

The teen looked like he was about to argue but Laura crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. He flashed a brief dimpled smile, lowered his gaze and conceded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Laura moved towards the stairs, "I'll be right back and after we get you settled, I think I've got something for that rattle in your chest."

"Rattle?" Sam sounded confused and she gave a little chuckle as she glanced back at him.

"Yeah. _Rattle._ It's my official diagnosis," she smiled at the confused look on the kid's face.

"You're a doctor?" a wary tone crept into his voice.

Laura laughed lightly, "That's me, '_Dr. Mom'_. I got my medical degree from _Dr. Spock_."

Sam frowned for a moment and then the name of the famous author who had written parenting guides registered and he gave her a hint of a smile – realizing she had been teasing him – and carefully sat down on the couch. "As long as it isn't Mr. Spock…" he deadpanned. "I'm not much into Vulcan mind melds."

"Hmmm… now there's a thought," Laura was pleasantly surprised by Sam's straight-laced sense of humor. He reminded her of a bit of Frank and she winked at him before hurrying up the stairs towards the linen closet. She had a pillow and blanket to get.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe Hardy once again sat in awe of the '67 Chevy as he felt the powerful vehicle vibrating muscle through the leather of the seats. His whole body tingled as the car rumbled and as much as he'd never admit it out loud, he was almost thankful for the vandals who necessitated this second ride. Almost.

"Damn," he whispered in appreciation as he reached out to stroke the dash, "this is one fine _auto-mo-bile_!" He dragged out the last word with just enough admiration to garner a groan from the back seat.

Frank just did not appreciate cars in the same manner, which was why the older Hardy was sitting in the backseat and letting his car-crazy brother ride 'shotgun'.

"Why thank you, Mr. Hardy," Dean tipped his head slightly in recognition. "She does pretty good for an old girl – even if I do say so myself."

The engine seemed to cough in rebuff at his wording and Dean instantly patted the steering wheel affectionately. "I take that back… this baby is a classic. Never old." The roughness in the cylinders seemed to even itself out.

"They sure don't build'em like they used to," Joe continued on and Dean nodded but before he could say anything, a protest arose from the backseat.

"Oh for Pete's sake, it's just a car!"

Immediately two sets of eyes glared at him; one pair through the rearview mirror, and the other from his brother when Joe shifted around to look at him.

"Mind your tongue, boy," Dean chastised; his tone frosty.

"Yeah, _boy_," Joe parroted; unable to keep the teasing glint out of his eyes.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Frank muttered and then scowled when Dean tapped on the brakes.

"Respect the ride," the older Winchester threatened, "Or walk."

"Yeah. _Or walk_," Joe repeated, his bottom chin jutted out in a picture of petulance, partaking in his favorite pastime of 'pestering Frank'. That game never got old.

"You are such a brat," Frank rebuked as he folded his arms around his chest and glared at his brother. Without dropping eye contact with Joe, the dark haired sleuth added. "Fine… I respect that this car hasn't OD'ed – yet – on the lethal injection of testosterone it receives daily through the driver's seat."

Joe's eyes widened in shock and he slowly turned to see Dean's reaction to Frank's implied insult. The tension increased as the hunter slowed the car down and then stopped on the side of the road.

Dean slowly swiveled around in his seat so that he could take a good long look at Frank. Joe did the same suspecting that the driver was about to murder his backseat passenger –

And then Dean gave an approving nod. "Good one, Frank. I'm almost respecting you here." He grinned. "Note, I said 'almost'?" Without another word, he turned back around, put the car back in DRIVE and pulled back onto the road.

The rest of the ride back to the Hardy's van was in blessed silence but Joe couldn't help the stupid smirk plastered on his face. Dean liked Frank.

…

"There it is," Dean said twenty minutes later when the dark colored van came in view. "Sorry to say, guys, it doesn't look any better in the daylight."

And it didn't.

The van sat low on the soft shoulder, all four tires flat, and on the side facing the road, a couple of huge dents had Dean whistling sympathetically at the damage.

"Never noticed that last night," he admitted as he parked across the road from the van.

"What happened?" Joe asked his brother as they got out of the Impala.

Frank ran a hand through his dark hair absently. "Not sure, really. And I was there."

"The wraith," Dean answered as he ran his fingers across one of the dents. "Shit." He hissed and then glanced around. "We need to make this quick." He trotted across to the Impala and opened the trunk. "You boys start on the tires; I need to secure the area."

"Dean?" Joe followed him. "You're not thinking about going back in that house are you?" He glanced warily in the general direction of the old derelict manor.

The hunter scoffed. "Do I look crazy to you?" His eyes narrowed as he shot a pointed look at Frank. "And no comments from the peanut gallery…" Frank ignored him as he opened the back door and carefully pulled out one of the spares they had brought. "You just don't mess around with wraiths. Too much power," Dean explained to Joe as he started to search through the trunk, "I'm going to set up a protective circle around the van-" he paused, "and my car. That way the thing can't get the drop on us while we're busy."

Somewhat satisfied, Joe went about helping Frank get the jack and other spares, letting Dean finish up without further distraction.

If he found it odd to see the man pouring a circle of salt around the two vehicles, he chose not to comment about it.

…

Unbeknownst to either young man, they were being watched…

Dark eyes narrowed shrewdly; enough pussyfooting around. It was time to get serious.

One against three weren't the best odds, but he had a gun and the element of surprise.

Oh yes… This was going to be fun. For him.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Close Encounters **

_Unbeknownst to either young man, they were being watched…_

_Dark eyes narrowed shrewdly; enough pussyfooting around. It was time to get serious._

_One against three weren't the best odds, but he had a gun and the element of surprise._

_Oh yes….This was going to be fun. For him._

**Chapter 21**

"So it's just you, your brother and your Dad?" Laura confirmed as she folded laundry in the living room so she could keep an eye on the convalescing teen.

After taking a dose of cough syrup, Sam had been dozing lightly on the sofa for the better part of the last hour but had recently awoken abruptly, almost coming off the couch and startling the woman as she had been leaning over to check on him at the time.

"Yeah," came a soft reply from beneath a warm wooly afghan. "My Mom died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry," and Laura genuinely was, her heart aggrieved for the stricken teen. "You must miss her."

Sam didn't say anything for a few minutes and the blond woman thought he might have dozed off again, but then she heard a sigh and was surprised by his admission: "Would it make me a bad person if I said no?" The battered youngster sat up a bit and tried to explain. "I mean I miss her, I guess. Or rather the idea of her…but I don't remember anything about my Mom so all I've got is what Dean and Dad tell me – and a few pictures." He looked absolutely miserable. "I was only six months old…"

"Oh, Sam," Laura's heart bled for the child she saw struggling inside the young man, "that doesn't make you bad at all. It makes you honest."

"She died in my room," he confessed, an odd guilt laced his eyes. Laura wasn't able to capture the color of their dark hazel in any one word. "A fire." He glanced down at the blanket and added, "Dad couldn't save her…he saved me."

A spark of comprehension ignited and Laura got an unnerving understanding about the guilt that seemed to wrap around this child's grief, and it stunned her. Somehow he blamed _himself_…

It made no sense and Laura found herself uttering condolences, "it's not your fault, honey, you were only a baby," knowing her words would do nothing to assuage Sam of his guilt. But she needed to say it anyway.

"That's what Dean says." Sam gave her a wry look.

"And what about your Dad?" Laura found herself treading lightly, but she got the distinct impression that the youngest Winchester was looking for a much needed commiseration that she doubted, while they might love him, neither his father nor his brother could offer. He needed an impartial yet compassionate ear. And she was more than willing to lend hers. "What does he say?"

Sam gave a soft snort and settled back against the couch. "My Dad isn't exactly a touchy-feely kinda guy—"

Laura read between the lines. "You've never spoken with him about this?"

"How could I?" anguished Sam, and it took every ounce of restraint that Laura had not to gather him up in her arms to protect him from the soul-blazing pain that seemed ready to consume him. "He saw her die! He loved her! And—" he suddenly broke off and she saw his jaw clench shut.

"And?" She lowered her voice and urged him to finish.

"And…" the word was choked; it didn't take a detective's wife to figure out what he was afraid of.

"And you're afraid of what he might say," she finished gently, knowing she had struck home from the horrified and then abashed look on the teen's face. "Oh…Sam…"

"It's not like that," Sam tried to backpedal but the woman saw through him.

"Of course it isn't." She paused and gave him a scrutinizing look. "Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?"

Sam looked confused at this seeming change of subject. After a moment he shrugged, and winced at the movement.

"I see a very well-loved young man." Laura smiled at the disbelieving look the sixteen year old gave her. Obviously _that_ was not what he had been expecting to hear. But being the wife of an investigator, and the mother of two blossoming young sleuths, she was adept at looking beyond the bruises and seeing the man underneath – and she saw no less now…

"_If_ your father blamed you in any way for your mother's death – which would be absolutely preposterous—" she felt the need to point out, again, "Then you would not be the confident, well-mannered, warm-hearted young man that you so obviously are….Hatred and loathing breed insecurity, self-doubt and neglect. None of which you are….Plus, you have something else: an additional gift that a man who resented you would never offer—" Her smile softened. "Your brother…Dean very obviously cares about you and it's into his care that your father has entrusted you while he's gone. To me that speaks volumes of how he feels – how they both feel."

"But," Sam started and then shook his head and sighed wearily.

"But nothing, young man." Laura sensed the end of the conversation and picked up the pile of towels she had finished folding. She gave him a stern look. "Now close your eyes and try to get some rest. I'm just going upstairs to put the clothes away and then I'm going to see what I can do about lunch – holler if you need anything, okay?"

The teen nodded and, satisfied, Laura left the room.

Sam's self-recrimination for his mother's death touched her in a way that Laura knew she'd never forget, and she just hoped that in some way she had been able to offer him comfort….

The empathetic mother wished she could give him absolution but it was not hers to give. It was his.

And Laura just hoped that someday he realized that.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Geez," Dean groused as he stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back, "could this have taken any longer?" It was now just after three in the afternoon and he had been hoping to get back to get his brother an hour ago.

The sun was lowering in the sky and he had no intention of being out here after dark. Not that he was afraid – it took a lot more than lack of light to do that – but he wasn't ready to be stupid about it either.

"Well," Joe offered, "at least it didn't rain."

The glare the older Winchester shot him was priceless.

"You didn't have to stay," Frank reminded him as he cast one final appraising look over the van.

Dean scoffed, "Yeah well, someone had to stay and make sure the wraith didn't get your asses." He shrugged and added casually. "'Sides if something happened to you after I left…your mom would so kick my ass."

Frank and Joe exchanged a grin and Dean frowned. "What?"

"You like our mom," Joe teased as his brother nodded in agreement:

"Big time."

"W-what?" Dean sputtered and then denied, "I do not!"

"You can admit it," Joe cajoled. "Our other friends like her too."

"She is a pretty cool mom," Frank added resolutely.

"Oh for Pete's sake!" the hunter growled as he made a show of stalking towards the Impala, "You guys—" The words stuck in his throat when a large bearded man suddenly stepped out of the overgrowth and pointed a gun at him. Dean stopped and raised his hands slowly – not expecting corporeal trouble, the only weapon he had on him was a knife.

Shit.

"Well howdy, boys," the stranger said with _faux_ pleasantness. "Fancy meeting you here…"

"Who are you?" Frank asked, moving towards his brother slowly as he spoke. "And what do you want?"

The man grinned, his face almost split in half with the smirk. "Now, now. As a great Shakespearean writer once wrote, 'what is in a name?'"

"Shakespeare himself wrote that, you idiot," Frank corrected boldly and Dean cast a surprised glance at the older Hardy boy; a surprised look that turned to one of approval as Frank casually interposed himself between his younger brother and the armed man. It was a move worthy of the young hunter himself. "Not just some great Shakespearean writer."

"Well thank you, Frank, I've always had you pegged as the smart one," the man retorted and then indicated for Dean to move closer to the Hardys. "Too bad you weren't smart enough to listen to our warnings – all this could have been avoided."

"Wait," Joe spoke for the first time, "you're the one who slashed our tires."

The man nodded.

"And attacked Joe last night," Frank growled. But this time the man just shook his head.

"Alas, I can't take the credit for that one." He glanced at Dean. "I am the one, however, who drove the, how should we put it? Oh yeah, the getaway car."

"Where's your buddy?" Dean demanded, although he already had a pretty good idea and a sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach.

"That's not your concern," the man decided. "Now boys, if you don't mind. We're going to take a little walk together."

"And if we do mind?" Joe wanted to know.

"Than I'll just shoot you." The stranger tilted his head in the direction he had just come. "Now if you don't mind…after you…."

They had no choice but to comply, although as the kidnapper ushered them towards the old house, Dean couldn't help but feel that things were about to get a lot worse.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

**Dang Alerts still down... they just teased yesterday. Anyways, thank you for everyone who has taken time to read and review. And a special thanks to my wonderful beta, Red! I hope you enjoy this chapter -**

**Close Encounters **

"_That's not your concern," the man decided. "Now boys, if you don't mind. We're going to take a little walk together."_

"_And if we do mind?" Joe wanted to know._

"_Then I'll just shoot you." The stranger tilted his head in the direction he had just come. "Now if you don't mind… after you…"_

_They had no choice but to comply although as the kidnapper ushered them towards the old house, Dean couldn't help but feel that things were about to get a lot worse._

**Chapter 22**

The armed man prodded the three young men towards the old house, and with each step the feeling of foreboding grew in Dean Winchester's gut as his mind frantically tried to think of some way out of this that _didn't_ involve getting shot.

He glanced across at the Hardy's and was sure they were thinking the same thing. Hope ignited when Frank caught his eye and gave his head a subtle shake. _Obviously_ the dark haired sleuth had a plan and didn't want Dean to do anything to mess it up.

That was fine with Dean because, right now, he was drawing a blank. '_Besides'_, he decided, '_they should come up with something anyway 'cause this people thing is their kinda gig…'_ he frowned.

Shit. By the same token, _he'd_ better come up with some brilliant plan for the wraith. For one second he seriously considered taking a page out of Sam's book and telling the kidnapper the truth. That there was a mean-assed invisible and seriously pissed off spirit in that house… oh yeah, that would go over real well.

They were so screwed…

He was relieved about one thing. At least Sam wasn't here.

…

The man silently ushered them up the debilitated front steps and into the house, then down a long corridor and towards a small door at the end.

Dean frowned, not having noticed the door before. He cast a quick glance across at the Hardys hoping that whatever plan Frank had was a good one. Though right now, as the man indicated for the hunter to open the heavy door, he was ready to settle for half-assed.

As if anticipating probable trouble, the kidnapper suddenly grabbed Joe by the back of the neck and pressed the gun to his temple.

"No smart moves," he growled, his grip tightening around the younger Hardy's neck as he pulled the teen back against his chest, "or 'blondie' chews lead."

"Take it easy," Frank murmured, using one hand to caution Dean, as if Dean would do something to endanger Joe's life.

The hunter might have been insulted if he didn't know exactly what the older Hardy was feeling.

Fear. Pure unadulterated fear.

It was one thing to have a gun pointed at you; it was a completely different thing to have it pointed at your kid brother…

Dean took a small step backwards, letting Frank know that he wasn't about to try anything stupid.

"Down the stairs," the man barked, pressing the gun against Joe's head with enough force to make the boy wince.  "NOW!"

"We're going. We're going. Don't get your panties in a knot," Dean grumbled, carefully making his way down the stairs. The way was pitch black and he had to watch his footing. Frank was right behind him, backing down slowly, his dark eyes firmly fixed on the man threatening his brother.

The hunter could sense the eighteen year old's barely restrained anger and carefully coiled frustration, and he was impressed. Frank was dangerous… at least when Joe was concerned.

At the bottom of the stairs, Dean took a quick glance around, not that he could see anything. There were no windows in the basement and the only light was coming from the open door where the stranger and Joe were standing.

The man pulled Joe back slightly and started to close the door.

"Hey! Wait!" Frank yelled, "What about my brother?"

"Your brother," the man snarled nastily, "is no longer your concern." And then he slammed the door leaving the two young men in bitter darkness.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam was dozing lightly on the couch when he felt it.

At first it was nothing that he could put his finger on. But it was enough to rouse him and he slowly pushed his way up, instantly alert as he scanned the living room.

Faint humming to his right told him Laura was in the kitchen and he frowned, unable to discern what he was feeling. Something was just off.

The temperature in the room dipped and a coldness akin to icy fingers prickled at the back of his neck. The 'burn' marks on both his chin and his back throbbed and Sam swallowed hard as his every instinct was screaming at him…

Something was here.

Slowly pushing the warm afghan off his legs, Sam swung his legs over the side of the couch.

His heart pounded in his chest.

Around him a shadow flickered at the edge of his peripheral vision… gone before he could look.

Unnerved, he stood up, his body tensed in anticipation of trouble –

And then the phone rang, scaring the living beejebers out of him.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What do you want?" Joe asked as the man pulled him down the front stairs of the house and back outside. The short autumn afternoon was already beginning to darken as the temperature started to drop.

The grip on his arm tightened but it was the gun the kidnapper still held firmly in his other hand that kept the young detective from trying to break away.

"A distraction," the man said curtly as he hurried Joe back towards the road.

"A distraction," the blond teen was confused. "For who?" The stranger shot him a pointed look and Joe got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "My Dad," he said hoarsely. "You're doing this to distract my Dad."

This wasn't the first time someone had tried to use Fenton's family to dissuade the great detective from pursuing a case and in Joe's books it was the epitome of cowardice.

"If your old man would just mind his own business," the man growled, "None of this would have been necessary."

"If you weren't into something you shouldn't be," Joe shot back, "my 'old man' wouldn't be minding your business!"

"Keep it up, kid," the kidnapper warned, "and I won't mind so much killing you." He grinned as Joe paled. "Oh that's right, I never told you that part of the plan, eh?"

Before the man could get out another word, Joe twisted, his fist swinging around to crack painfully off the man's jaw. Immediately the grip on his arm relaxed and Joe pulled away making a frantic dash for the trees. He wasn't fast enough though.

A shot zinged over his head as the man recovered and yelled out. "The next one won't miss."

Frustrated, Joe had no choice. He stopped and slowly turned around.

Rubbing his jaw, the man glared at the young man. "For that. You're riding in the trunk."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"So what's your plan?" Dean asked as he and Frank checked out the dark basement for any way out. It was difficult going though as they couldn't even see the hand in front of their faces.

"Plan?" he heard Frank's voice from somewhere behind him. "I don't have a plan… yet."

"Yet?" Dean scowled but the look was wasted in the blackness. "What do you mean 'yet'? I thought you had a plan. You gave me the '_don't do anything stupid I've got a plan look'_." He didn't' need to see Frank to know the incredulous look the sleuth shot him. He heard it in Frank's voice.

"What the- I did not! I don't even know what that look is!"

"Well you should," Dean huffed as he crouched down and ran his fingers along the bottom of the old wall looking for any signs of a draft. It was a waste of time. "Hey," he said standing up, "maybe one of the cell's will work in here."

Frank must have been thinking the same thing because a small light broke the darkness a split second before Dean flipped his phone open.

"Shit," Dean grumbled. "No signal. What about-"

"Nothing," Frank interrupted tersely angrily slamming the phone shut. "Damn it. I just wish I knew where he was taking Joe."

"Easy big fella," the hunter tried to console as he moved closer to Frank. "He'll be all right."

"And if he isn't?" a recognizable note of desperation tinged the dark haired teen's voice and Dean felt his insides tighten. He knew that tone.

"If he isn't," Dean's own was daggered. "There'll be hell to pay."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

The large black truck rumbled to a stop behind the Winchester's Impala. Its engine grumbled powerfully as the driver frowned and looked across at the dark van parked on the other side of the roadway.

'_What is this?'_ he wondered, parking the truck and getting out.

The sound of a gunshot had him diving across the leather seat and pulling out his own gun from the glove compartment.

In seconds he was armed and dangerous… and out of sight.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

**I dedicate the hamburger meat in this chapter to my beta. I can assure her that Laura Hardy's won't make her sick! Feel better, my friend**

**Close Encounters **

_The large black truck rumbled to a stop behind the Winchester's Impala. Its engine grumbled powerfully as the driver frowned and looked across at the dark van parked on the other side of the roadway._

'_What is this?' he wondered, parking the truck and getting out. _

_The sound of a gunshot had him diving across the leather seat and pulling out his own gun from the glove compartment. _

_In seconds he was armed and dangerous… and out of sight._

**Chapter 23**

"Hello?" Laura picked up the phone and frowned. "Hello??" There was no one there.

Shrugging, she placed the receiver back on the cradle and sighed – probably a prank caller. For the life of her, she'd never understand what anyone got out of calling someone and then hanging up.

"Oh well," she murmured quietly to herself as she opened the freezer and glanced at its contents. "Whatever makes them happy I guess." Selecting a package of hamburger meat, the woman decided on making a nice meatloaf for supper, and put it in the microwave to defrost.

Then leaning against the counter, Laura folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips. It was taking a lot longer than she'd expected for the boys to return and it nagged at her, setting her instincts on edge.

Once again, the intuitive mother found herself fighting an overprotective urge to try calling but finally decided against it. Besides which, it wasn't like her boys were alone. Dean Winchester had gone with them and he certainly seemed a capable young man.

She'd give them another hour and then call.

Appeased for now, Laura's attention returned to the injured teen convalescing on her couch and she wondered if he was hungry. The blond woman had made sandwiches and soup for lunch and he _had_ given it a good try; however the meager amount he'd managed to eat wasn't encouraging. She knew, from experience, how much food it took to grow a boy and a couple mouthfuls of chicken noodle soup wasn't it.

Deciding that he might be, she fixed a small tray of crackers and juice and pushed through the swinging door to go back to the living room.

…

The temperature continued to drop around him and as Sam stood he winced, his body protesting every movement. His heart was still pounding from the fright the ringing phone had given him but he knew it was more than just the adrenaline rush that kept him on pins and needles. He just wasn't sure what.

A strong urge to call his brother had Sam moving toward the living room phone just as Laura Hardy pushed through the kitchen door, laden down with a small tray.

"Hi Sam," she smiled brightly as she saw him on his feet. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Uh," the teen didn't want to lie – he still felt like crap. But the sense of urgency flooding him propelled the teen beyond all that. He opened his mouth to tell her he was fine when the phone started ringing again.

Once again he startled.

Laura though just rolled her eyes, put the tray down on the coffee table and picked up the phone.

"Hardy Residence," she answered and paused a moment, her pretty features marred by a frown. She pressed, "_hello?_ Who is this?"

Every hair on Sam's body tingled with electricity as he watched the increasingly agitated woman until Laura finally said something that made him raise his eyebrows and slammed down the receiver.

"Some people really need to grow up," she said to him by way of explanation. "Anyways, Sam, I'm sorry about that. But that's the second prank call in the last five minutes. I pick up and no one is there."

This time when the phone rang, Sam was ready for it and grabbed the receiver before Laura could.

"Who is this?" he demanded, wanting to spare the woman a third run in with the prankster.

There was a pause and then the blood drained from the young hunter's face as he heard a wispy, crackly voice whisper, _'Mine…'_

Sam dropped the phone as something burned his hand!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"C'mon, brat," the gunman prodded Joe to keep moving. "We don't want to be late."

"Late?" Joe snorted, "Late for what?"

"For your own death of course," the man grinned as he shoved Joe through the trees and onto the road.

The blond teen swallowed hard but forced bravado. This wasn't the first time his life had been threatened, but it made it no less terrifying. "You kill me and then what?"

"Well then your brother's life becomes a whole lot more important to dear old Dad, doesn't it?" the kidnapper gloated as they approached the Hardy's newly tired van. "It really was luck that you and your brother stopped here last night – it gave us the perfect opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?" Joe asked trying to stall as he got a bad feeling that the guy intended on using the brothers' van.

"To get you of course, you dumbass," the man taunted. "Of course things got messed up when you didn't call Daddy to tell him about the slashed tires or even about the attack this morning." He stopped by the back of the van but kept a firm grip on Joe's arm. "So we had to step things up. We figure once your old man gets your body and then finds out we have your brother… that should get his attention and make him a little more concerned about his family than anything else… After all he won't have his 'spare' son anymore, will he?" He smiled and it sent chills down the detective's spine.

"You keep saying 'us' and 'we', where is your partner?" Joe demanded refusing to rise to the man's bait, and hating the way things had worked out. They had stopped to help the Winchesters and that gave these men the perfect chance to vandalize the van, and now _if_ they did kill Joe, no one would know where Frank was, because stopping at that old house had never been in their plans – his father would be completely at these men's mercy.

His only hope was that Frank and Dean got out of the basement themselves or –

Joe suddenly heaved a small sigh of relief. The kidnappers plan had one little flaw in it.

Sam.

The young hunter not only knew where they were going, but had his own vested interest in having them found; the kidnapper had Dean locked in that basement too.

He took some comfort in knowing that.

Now if only he could do something about his own situation. Joe did not want to die.

The man opened his mouth to answer him but then seemed to changed his mind and glared across the road at the quiet Impala instead.

"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully, after a long moment, "Just in case -" He shifted the gun towards the car. "Better safe than sorry…"

Joe stared at him in disbelief. He was going to shoot the car. Or rather the tires on the car – _what was this guy's problem with tread?_

The man's finger tightened on the trigger –

"I wouldn't be doing that if I were you," a low voice growled as another stranger in worn jeans and an equally worn brown leather coat moved into view, his own gun drawn and pointed directly at Joe's kidnapper.

"And who the hell are you?" the kidnapper demanded tersely, obviously not liking this unexpected delay.

Joe stared at the newcomer. The man had a muscular build and stood just over six feet tall. His dark hair and scruffy beard roughened his handsome face. But even before he introduced himself, Joe saw enough of this man's sons in both his appearance and the way he carried himself, to know exactly who he was… and hope flared triumphant.

"Name's John Winchester," John said, his eyes dark and narrowed, his aim steady even as he took a protective stance in front of the black car, "and I can't say I take too kindly to anyone messing with my boys' car…" He paused, his gaze traveling briefly over Joe's face and then back to the man holding the teen, "and I take even less kindly to anyone messing with my boys…" His tone was positively lethal. "And where exactly _are_ my sons?"

"I don't know no Winchesters," the man scoffed.

John's look sent shivers down Joe's spine, and it wasn't even directed at him. "Too bad," he mused, his voice now deceptively soft. He tipped his head at the blond teen. "Let him go."

"Excuse me?"

The grip tightened on Joe.

"You heard me," the oldest Winchester growled. He fired without pausing and the kidnapper hissed as the bullet barely missed his face. "I won't be asking twice."

"You're nuts!" The man barked but released Joe immediately. The seventeen year old backed away from the kidnapper quickly.

"Drop your gun," John instructed calmly. "And kick it away with your feet."

The man did so.

"What's your name, kid?" the demon 'hunter' asked.

"Joe," Joe said, "Joe Hardy."

"Okay, Joe Hardy," John kept his eyes on the kidnapper, "Is this guy a friend of yours?"

"No, sir," Joe answered; something about this man instantly demanded his respect. "He's got my brother and Dean locked in the basement of an old house and was planning on killing me."

John's mouth tightened at the mention of his oldest son and he quickly approached the now cowering man. "Good. Then you won't mind if I do this." With one fluid movement he slammed the butt of the handgun into the kidnappers face and the man dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Shocked by the unexpected brutality, Joe recovered fast and shrugged. "Can't say I do… sir."

The hunter gave the younger Hardy an approving nod and then made short work of binding the kidnapper. "Let's get the boys first, and then you can call the police on this guy."

Joe never had to be asked twice, quickly leading the way back towards the house. He glanced at the man moving silently beside him and tried for conversation. "Dean says there's a wraith in that house."

John stopped and stared at him incredulously for a moment but rather than saying anything, he just picked up the pace and the teen had to hurry to keep up with him.

When they finally reached the old manor again, the hunter held out his hand stopping Joe from getting too close. "Wait here, son," he ordered. "I'll be right back."

The blond boy opened his mouth to protest but one stern look from the former Marine had him nodding in resignation; intuition warned him that now was not the time to argue.

"Okay," he conceded, "The basement door is at the end of the hall."

John nodded his appreciation and then quickly climbed the steps and entered the house.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry for the delay but this chapter just refused to co-operate so I hope you like it. And I have to say I thought HUNTED was an awesome episode! All I got to say is the boys are back in town!!! Thanks, Red Hardy, for the beta, and as always, I don't own 'em and I make no money from 'em!**

**Close Encounters **

_When they finally reached the old manor again, the hunter held out his hand stopping Joe from getting too close. "Wait here, son," he ordered. "I'll be right back."_

_The blond boy opened his mouth to protest but one stern look from the former Marine had him nodding in resignation; intuition warned him that now was not the time to argue._

"_Okay," he conceded, "The basement door is at the end of the hall."_

_John nodded his appreciation and then quickly climbed the steps and entered the house._

**Chapter 24**

"Ah!" Sam gasped in pain as he pulled his hand towards his chest protectively.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Laura instinctively reached out to take a look at the injury but the teen pushed her away.

"Salt," he hissed, already moving towards the kitchen, "We need salt!"

The woman opened her mouth to ask what was going on when the sound of glass cracking was all the warning they got before the living room windows imploded.

Sam grabbed her arm and half-dragged her towards the kitchen. "Don't look back!" he yelled, "Don't look back!"

Shattered glass peppered them. Slicing and stinging as they barreled through the swinging door and into the kitchen.

"Salt!" Sam yelled again, frantically searching the cupboards.

Cracks, spider webbed and stole across the kitchen window –

The temperature plummeted –

"The windows!" Laura cried out; she grabbed Sam's arm, her finger pointing.

Sam paused transfixed for one moment and then he moved. With unexpected speed and strength, he shoved the woman into a closet –

The door slammed to the sound of breaking glass.

"What's going on?" the blond woman demanded, her blue eyes flickering between fear and anger as she flipped an unseen switch and bathed them in light. She loved this house.

Sam slumped against the back wall breathing heavily and thankful the 'closet' was actually a small windowless pantry with shelves. He managed to gasp out, "wraith… angry spirit…"

Laura blinked and then gave him a disbelieving look. She raised one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Please… just trust me," Sam straightened and then turned around, quickly scanning the food packed shelves. "We need -"

Reaching past him, Laura pulled out a full box and held it in front of his face, "Salt?"

"Oh thank you, thank you," the dark haired teen whispered in relief, wincing as he struggled to get the container open.

The woman took it from him, jumping as something was hurtled against the door.

"Hurry," Sam cast an urgent glance at the door knowing it would not keep the wraith out.

Dishes crashed on the floor.

Hastily the teen poured the salt –

Laura opened her mouth to say something –

The pantry door flew off its hinges –

And then nothing.

Silence.

The wraith was here.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Well?" Dean demanded impatiently as Frank ran his hands around the frame of the door. "Anything?"

"Hmmm," the dark haired Hardy absently nodded, although it was a wasted gesture in the pitch darkness of their prison.

"Hmmm?" the older man scowled. "Exactly what does 'hmmm' mean? I'm not really fluid in 'geekish'."

"Hold on," Frank ignored his snarkiness. The more time he spent with the demon hunter, the more immune he became to Dean's sarcasm.

Dean chewed his lip and glanced around, his eyes straining for any sign of light, but finding none. This place might as well be a tomb. He shivered. Time for a new thought.

He wondered what Sam was doing and hoped the kid was at least resting, confident that no matter what, his younger brother was having a much better time then he was. Sighing, Dean reached up and fingered the healing gash on his forehead and decided Frank had had enough time to 'hold on' to a lot of things.

"So?" he moved in closer to the young detective, annoyingly close.

Again Frank ignored him. Dean guessed the eighteen year old was too preoccupied with worry for Joe to be bothered with anything else. He understood that.

"So… the hinges are on the inside of the door – if you have a knife or something - "

Dean cut him off. "Can do," and pulled out his knife. It was the only weapon he had. "How's this?"

"Ow!" Frank yelped as the knife, being passed in the dark, nicked his hand. "You did that on purpose!"

"Prove it," Dean shot back, although he did genuinely feel bad. "You're not hemorrhaging to death or anything are you? Damn things a tad sharp."

"Tell me something I don't know," Frank grumbled back.

"Well I do this thing… with my fingers-"

"Dean!" the young sleuth cut him off, with enough horror in his voice to make the older man grin.

"What?" Dean feigned innocence, "It drives the girls wild."

Before Frank could reply, the door was suddenly yanked open and the older Hardy fell forward and onto the floor, landing ungraciously in a heap at the feet of a strange man.

Dean blinked and then grinned. "Hey Dad," he said casually, "what took you so long?"

John Winchester stared down at Frank for a moment before he cocked his eyebrow and looked at his son. "Does he belong to you?"

"What can I say?" the younger Winchester deadpanned as his father extended a hand and effortlessly pulled Frank to his feet. "Every happy meal comes with a toy."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Stay inside the salt," Sam hissed slowly as a transparent black mist hovered in the broken doorway. "It can't cross the circle of salt."

Beside him, Laura's eyes were wide with shock and she nodded just as slowly.

The wraith seemed to sense the salt because it made no move towards them. It just hung in the air ominously. Behind and through it, they could see the devastation in the kitchen. Broken glass, dishes, open cupboards and food spilled on the counters and floors.

"Sorry about the mess," the teen whispered.

Laura gave him an odd look, the strangeness of his apology distracting her from the supernatural phenomenon less than a foot away. She sighed, "Yeah. Me too," and then added, "Why salt?"

"I dunno," Sam admitted and then flashed her, what he hoped, was a cocky 'Dean' grin. "Maybe they have high blood pressure or something."

"Sam," Laura sounded serious. "I think you need _blood_, to have _blood_ pressure." Her attempt at bravado was rewarded with a genuine Sam Winchester two dimpled smile.

He didn't say anything though, cause she was right…

"Uh, Sam," the woman pressed a short time later when the wraith still hadn't moved. "What's it doing?"

The teen bit his lip, feeling like he should have all the answers, but in truth he had very few. At sixteen, he wasn't given the full privileges of a 'hunter' and had always 'hunted' under the direction of his father or Dean. His strength was in research.

"Waiting," he offered weakly.

"For what?" Laura wondered, shifting anxiously as the seconds passed slowly.

"I wish I knew," Sam muttered as he risked a glance down at his hand. It continued to hurt. As did the mark on his back and his chin. With sudden clarity he realized that every time the wraith 'touched' him, it seemed to burn him.

However, while that knowledge was interesting and offered him many avenues of consideration, it did nothing to help their current situation. He needed to get to a phone and call Dean.

"I don't suppose you have a plan?" Laura asked, her bright blue eyes locked on the hovering wraith.

"Well…" Sam frowned. He had a plan. It just wasn't a good one. However, he had to do something. "Actually… yeah I do."

Laura looked at him. "And?"

"And I'm going to need your help…"

It sounded simple enough. Sam would play decoy while Laura called Dean. Then they'd both get back inside the circle of salt and wait for the cavalry…

"I don't like it," Laura admitted honestly. "How do you know the wraith will go after you?"

"Trust me," Sam was confident, "it will."

"I still don't like it – you could get hurt," she continued, "and you're already hurt as it is."

"Mrs. Hardy, I appreciate your concern," and Sam really did, it made him feel warm inside to have someone's mother worried about him, however he was more afraid of her getting hurt if they tried to wait this thing out then he was of anything happening to him… though the wraith inspired burns begged to differ. So putting on his game face, Sam lied. "But I'll be fine. The wraith can't hurt me…"

Laura looked skeptical but before she could argue, Sam grabbed the box of salt, poured out a handful and tossed it at the wraith.

With a scream, the spirit vanished and Sam stepped outside the circle of salt.

"You know what to do," he reminded her and was gone, hurrying towards the upper part of the house.

…

Laura waited for a few moments and then taking a steadying deep breath left the safety of the closet, Dean's memorized number reciting on her lips.

She just hoped he had his cell on…

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

**It might be short but I hope you like it anyways! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_Laura waited for a few moments and then taking a steadying deep breath left the safety of the closet, Dean's memorized number reciting on her lips._

_She just hoped he had his cell on…_

**Chapter 25**

"Where's your brother?" John demanded, giving his son the once-over. His gaze lingered briefly on the forehead gash before, satisfied that there was no serious damage, he looked past Dean towards the dark basement.

"He's at my house," Frank interjected as he inspected the small cut on the side of his hand. It wasn't deep. More like an irritating paper cut than anything else.

The rugged hunter frowned. "And you are?"

"Dad," Dean inserted an introduction, "This is Frank Hardy. He and his brother, Joe, are friends—"

"Joe?" John ushered the younger men towards the front door, hyper-vigilant for any signs of the aforementioned wraith. "Blond kid – about six foot, looks like he knows his way around a football field?"

"Yes!" Frank nodded vehemently, "That's my brother! Have you seen him?"

John gave him a measured look and then pushed open the front door, "You might say that…"

"_Joe!_" Frank saw his brother and hurried towards him, quickly running a worried gaze over his sibling, "Are you okay? What happened? How'd you get away? Where—"

Dean rolled his eyes but couldn't help but grin as he glanced across at his father. John snorted softly, clearly as amused by this as Dean was.

Joe held up his hands, backing his brother off. "Whoa easy, Frank! Yes, I'm fine. Mr. Winchester here," he tipped his chin towards the older man, "went all Dirty Harry on the guy and saved my ass. What about you guys?" He glanced between Frank and Dean. "Are you okay?"

Dean spoke up. "We're good." The small group started towards the road where the vehicles were.

"What happened?" John asked his son as they let the Hardys go on ahead. He glanced back towards the house. "The blond kid said there's a wraith? And why the hell isn't Sammy with you? You know how I feel about you boys splitting up."

"Uh," Dean hedged, "well…" he sighed and bit the bullet, tripping over his words in a haste to get them out, "Sam got hurt – he's okay…well mostly…but the wraith, which we totally weren't expecting, got the drop on us and Sammy took a bit of a tumble. Like I said, he's okay – mostly, a bit colorful though – so I figured he should sit this one out. You know, a little R and R…" his voice trailed off weakly as his father stopped walking and turned a full John Winchester trademark look of disapproval on him.

"A wraith? You're sure?"

"Yes, sir. Too powerful to be another poltergeist." Dean swallowed a bit nervously. Not that he was worried about his father raising a hand to him. John wasn't abusive, even if he had been known on occasion – in Dean's way past – to have swatted a butt or two in his time…usually Dean's…but always with good cause.

What he _was_ worried about was disappointing his father. As far as Dean was concerned, taking care of Sam was Dean's job, and now Sam was hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me this, this morning?" John demanded as they started walking again, picking up the pace to catch up with the Hardy boys.

"You never asked," Dean stated bluntly. It was neither an accusation nor an insult but John's jaw tightened anyway because his son was right. He had been in such a hurry when he had called that he never even asked how the poltergeist hunt he had sent them on was going.

He didn't even ask if the boys were okay. And apparently they had not been…

"I figured I'd tell you the next time you called," the younger Winchester continued. "I didn't think it was a big deal. Hey," a sudden thought occurred to Dean, "What are you doing here anyway? You said you'd be a couple of more days still."

"Missouri called," John admitted, "she told me you boys were in a bit of a bind and that I best be getting my hiney back to Bayport." He glanced back at the house that had imprisoned Dean and Frank. "Guess she knew what she was talking about…again."

Dean had to grin. Missouri Mosely was an old friend and a renowned psychic whose often-times odd premonitions had saved their lives too many times to be discounted. And she was one of the few people who could make John Winchester do anything – the short, rotund southern black woman knew how to wield a mean wooden spoon… "Hiney, huh?" he couldn't help but tease. "Her word or yours?"

John shot him a daggered glare.

The younger hunter just grinned but before he could say anything else, his cell phone rang.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam had no idea how long the table salt would repel the wraith but figured it wouldn't be for very long. Rock salt was the weapon of choice.

Moving as quickly as he could, the injured teen hurried towards the stairs leading to the second story.

He had his path picked out – up the stairs, into Joe's room, through the shared bathroom into Frank's room, and then back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Now all he needed was for the spirit to follow – and for it to be slower than he was…

Sam was out of luck though. The wraith didn't follow _him_.

…

Laura knew it was behind her without even turning around. The air was charged with an electricity that made every hair on the back of her neck tingle.

Turning slowly, she continued dialing, praying Dean answered and Sam got back to the kitchen before this thing did whatever it was that things like it, did.

She really had no idea.

Normally a rather level-headed and clear-thinking detective's wife, Laura felt at a rather uncomfortable disadvantage in this situation as her heart pounded painfully in her chest and her hands trembled slightly as they held the phone to her ear.

Once again the wraith hovered behind her.

_The first ring went through._

Laura heard Sam on the second floor…

The dark mass vibrated and started to stretch out.

_The second ring went through._ _Pick up, pick up!_

Sam clumped heavily down the stairs…

Dean picked up on the third ring—

And Laura screamed!

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Hello—" Dean started when a woman's scream pierced through the receiver. "Damnit!" he yelped as he pulled the phone away. He was sure he'd never hear out of that ear again.

Ignoring his father's questioning look as the Hardys stopped to see what was going on, the young hunter pressed the phone back against his ear. "Who is this?" He scowled. No one was there. The screaming woman was replaced by dead air.

"What is it?" John demanded impatiently.

"I dunno," Dean hurriedly checked the call display and then frowned. "905-555-6539? I don't know that number."

Joe and Frank exchanged looks. "That's our number," Joe told them. "Maybe it was Sam."

Dean shook his head. "No…it was a woman," he paused and then started running for his car. "It was your Mom," he called over his shoulder, "and she was screaming!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Laura's scream cut off as Sam burst into the kitchen. The wraith had her pinned against the far wall, its touch leaving a scorching mark on her fair skin.

"Hey!" he yelled, hurrying towards them, "Let her go!"

Surprisingly enough, the wraith did just that and the blond woman slumped to the floor bonelessly. Unconscious.

Moving away from Laura, it shot towards Sam, placing itself between him and her, taunting the young hunter and countering every attempt Sam made to try and reach her.

Every contact burned.

"Damnit!" Sam yelled, angry and in pain. "What do you want?"

"Mine," the wraith hissed, "Mine…mine…" it slowly moved towards the teen, backing him against the stove—

The young hunter closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He knew what he had to do. There was no choice. He only prayed that somehow Dean or his father could undo this.

"Okay," he whispered. "Yours…"

…

An ominous silence fell over the house on the corner of Elm and High streets…

Curtains blew gently through broken windows; the front porch wind chime tinkled in the gentle breeze.

Inside, a cold autumn chill wrapped frigid fingers around the two people lying on the kitchen floor…

And that is exactly how Fenton Hardy found things when he returned home.

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

**It must be a good day! I got to post 'The Rambling Man' and this chapter all in one day! The muses were putting out! I hope you enjoy! And never fear - the end if near! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_An ominous silence fell over the house on the corner of Elm and High streets…_

_Curtains blew gently through broken windows; the front porch wind chime twinkled in the gentle breeze._

_Inside, a cold autumn chill wrapped frigid fingers around the two people lying on the kitchen floor…_

_And that is exactly how Fenton Hardy found things when he returned home._

**Chapter 26**

Fenton Hardy was exhausted.

It has been a tiring whirlwind of a couple of days, culminating with a successful sting operation, and he was happy to be getting home ahead of schedule.

His partner and best friend, Sam Radley, had insisted Fenton head on back to Bayport, assuring him that it wouldn't require the two of them to tie up loose ends…Radley didn't have to twist Fenton's arm.

Pulling his powerful sedan into the driveway, he turned it off and then exhaled slowly as he slumped back in the seat and closed his eyes briefly. He let the tension finally bleed out of his body…

God, it felt good to be home.

And then he opened his eyes, looked at the front of the house and everything changed—

With fluid movements, Fenton was armed and had covered the distance between his car and the front door in quick strides, having no memory or concern about leaving the car. He had only one thing on his mind – ensuring that his wife and sons were all right.

With caution as second-natured as stealth, Fenton checked the front door, found it unlocked and slowly pushed it open…

The house was bitterly cold and it cut through the man like a serrated knife. He fought instinct to call out to his family, unsure of what had happened beyond knowing something had. Shattered front windows weren't an easy thing to miss, even if he hadn't been one of the foremost investigators in the country.

Stealthily, the tall dark-haired man crossed the living room, his body coiled with tension as his keen hearing picked up the sound of heavy breathing coming from the kitchen.

Positioning his right shoulder against the swinging kitchen door, Fenton listened for a few more seconds and then shoved the door open and burst into the kitchen, his gun hand quickly sweeping the room for any threat.

Nothing moved.

Hyper-vigilant, the ex-cop dropped his gaze momentarily to check on the two people lying on the floor. _Laura!_ Two chests rose and fell with reassuring regularity and Fenton hesitated only a moment longer before quickly moving towards his wife.

Casting a cursory glance over the unfamiliar teenager lying in front of the stove, Fenton gently stroked Laura's face, brushing the blond hair from her forehead. "Laura? Sweetie? Can you wake up for me?"

Around him the sheer silence in the house was overwhelming. _What the hell had happened here? And where were Frank and Joe?_

The kitchen was a mess of shattered glass and broken dishes and Fenton winced as he saw the myriad of little cuts on his wife's flawless face. His heart pounded with anger as he felt the coolness of her blood beneath his gentle touch. He heard a soft moan. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, once again looking across at the teen and wondering who he was and what he had to do with this. Assured that the boy wasn't regaining consciousness just yet, he refocused on his wife. "C'mon, Laura, we need to discuss the renovations you've done to the house…"

Fenton watched as her eyes moved beneath their lids and she tossed her head slightly, finally coming awake with a gasp as she tried to sit up and push away from him at the same time. "Sam!"

"Sam?" the detective was confused. "Shhh Laura," he soothed, thinking she must have hurt her head. "Not Sam. Fenton."

"_Fenton?"_ Confused vibrant blue eyes locked on his soulful brown ones for a moment. And she repeated, urgency threading her voice. "Sam?"

Fenton frowned. _What was his wife's sudden fixation with his partner?_ Sure they were both tall, but Sam Radley had sandy brown hair and looked nothing like Fenton. Not even drunk. "No, honey," he repeated patiently, though his worry increased at her continued confusion. "Sam Radley is still in New York. It's me…Fenton. You remember? Your ruggedly handsome husband?" He gave her an encouraging smile.

Laura shook her head, finally pushing up into a sitting position, leaning against the cupboards. She tried to look past the detective. "Sam Winchester?"

"Who?" And then Fenton felt his face flush as he realized she must be talking about the strange teenager lying deathly still behind them. Immediately he turned to give the boy a more thorough look even as he kept Laura from moving. "Easy – you're hurt."

Laura, recovering more quickly from whatever had happened than Fenton was from finding her unconscious on the kitchen floor, pushed away from him and reached for Sam. "I'm fine."

Fenton turned back to stop her.

"Fenton," she protested, glaring at him.

"Laura, just humor me, okay?" the worried husband insisted. "Let me check him out. I don't want you getting hurt any further."

The look she gave him defied description, but the protective tone in her voice was not. "Sam won't hurt me! Now move…" she paused and then added, "please."

Cocking his eyebrow in surprise, Fenton deferred to his wife, moving away from the silent boy, but not far enough that he couldn't intervene quickly if he had to.

He watched, trying to piece together what was going on as Laura attempted to rouse 'Sam'. The kid looked like someone had knocked the crap out of him – Fenton eyed his wife with new respect.

"Sammy," her voice was soft and it reminded the man of many times when she had used that exact same tone on one of their own children when they were sick or hurting. "C'mon sweetie, you need to wake up…" She glanced up and did a quick glance around the kitchen. "Did you see it?" she asked with sudden urgency and Fenton wasn't sure who she was talking to until she fixed him with a questioning look.

"See what?" he asked, prompted by that look.

"The wraith," she rushed out, returning her attention to the still teen.

"Wraith?" Fenton wondered if he was on _Candid_ _Camera_ or, better yet, if he'd somehow entered the Twilight Zone as the conversation took a new turn.

"Never mind." Laura started to stand, weaving slightly and the detective rose quickly to steady her, frowning when he noticed a raw-looking burn on her neck but before he could ask, she was pushing by him again. "We need to call Dean. He'll know what to do!"

She reached for the phone but Fenton caught her arm and gently stopped her. "Laura. Slow down. Please. For one moment can we just pretend that I've been away for a couple of days and have no idea what is going on, and humor me—" he paused, worry forcing the edge of his patience. He did not like being kept in the dark – it went against every thing in him that was an investigator. "What the hell is going on? Who is Dean? Who is Sam? What happened to the house? Where are the boys and are you okay?"

Laura just stared at him for a long moment and then she smiled and gave him a warm hug. "Oh Fenton," she practically gushed, "I am so glad you're home!" And then she let him go, grabbed the phone and began dialing again.

Fenton just watched.

"Don't just stand there!" the woman multitasked, "Get the salt!"

If Laura Hardy's head had suddenly just done a three-sixty, the man would not have looked any more stunned. "Excuse me?" he finally managed.

"Table salt," Laura turned to the phone, "make a big circle around Sam." She glanced at Fenton as she waited for the phone to be answered. "Fenton!" she practically cried out, "Hurry!"

Fenton stared at the pantry, cocking his head towards the broken door. He shook his head. _Did she want the pepper too? _"Uh, honey," he spoke tentatively as his sharp eyes took in the circle of salt in the pantry. "You aren't planning on cooking him are you?"

"Oh damn," he heard his wife mutter softly and then slam down the phone. "I forgot the number!" She looked at Fenton. "What are you waiting for? We need salt!"

Seriously disturbed by his wife's behavior, Fenton did – nevertheless – pick up the box of salt, lying over half-empty on the pantry floor. Behind him Laura was back on her knees next to the now too-quiet boy, talking softly to him. The man swallowed roughly as he watched her gently brush dark hair out of the bruised face. He had a million questions…

Laura stood and held out her hand for the box. He passed it to her and then watched as she carefully made a circle around the teen.

Fenton jerked his head up at the sound of a rumbling engine and vehicles screeching to a stop outside.

Startled, Laura dropped the box and some of the salt scattered across Sam's burned hand – the reaction was immediate. And violent.

Sam bucked, an unearthly screech wrenched from his lips—

Flesh burned—

The boy writhed—

Horrified, they watched.

And then the back door splintered off its hinges and a stranger burst into the kitchen, his gun drawn; his countenance lethal.

Fenton moved quickly, standing between this 'threat' and Laura and the boy; his own gun drawn just as quickly. His own expression protectively formidable.

"Drop your weapon!" the ex-cop barked.

"Get away from my son," the ex-marine ordered. "NOW!"

The two men looked at each other but neither made a move…

And then Sam whimpered and another stranger, this one younger, pushed past the armed man and hurried into the kitchen. "Sam!"

And then Joe piled in after the stranger…

And then Frank after Joe…

Fenton put down his gun.

John Winchester, ever the true hard-ass, waited one moment longer and then, finally, lowered his weapon. "This your house?" he asked stiffly.

"Yes," Fenton replied, just as stiffly.

"Needs new windows," the other man grunted and then pushed past the younger Hardys to check on his sons.

The detective looked at his boys and raised an eyebrow and Joe countered with a mega-watt grin. "Dad!" he gave Fenton a big hug. "You're home!"

Frank hung back, not quite as demonstrative. Either that or else he knew it was going to take much more than a public display of affection to get out of this…

He was right.

Fenton wanted answers and he wanted them now.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

**Oops! I was so engrossed in 'Driven to Drink' that I forgot to post this last night! Sorry - I hope you enjoy. And I will warn you now. A little cliffie on this one... I could not resist! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_The detective looked at his boys and raised an eyebrow and Joe countered with a mega-watt grin. "Dad!" he gave Fenton a big hug. "You're home!"_

_Frank hung back, not quite as demonstrative. Either that or else he knew it was going to take much more than a public display of affection to get out of this…_

_He was right._

_Fenton wanted answers and he wanted them now._

**Chapter 27**

Fenton Hardy folded his arms across his muscular chest and raised an eyebrow in question at his sons. Although he _had_ lowered his gun, he had not lowered his guard and kept a wary eye on the Winchesters as they hovered over their unconscious teen; particularly as the boy – Sam – had somehow endeared himself to Laura and she had inserted herself right into the pack of them.

However the intuitive investigator knew better than to come between a tigress and her cubs. Even adopted cubs. So he kept silent vigil over those proceedings even as he prepared to 'interrogate' his boys.

"Joe?" Fenton figured it would be more entertaining if he started with his younger son. The seventeen year old knew how to spin a fine tale and if he got too out of hand, the detective knew Frank would insert corrections. And figuring the state of the house and its occupants, this should be a very good story indeed.

"Uh, Dad, can I ask you something first?" the blond teen hedged.

"That depends," Fenton admitted, "does it have any significance to you telling me what's been going on around here?'

Joe nodded his head vehemently, "Oh. Most definitely!"

Frank groaned, most likely having guessed where his brother was going with this, and once again Fenton marveled at how close his boys were. And once again he was thankful for it too.

"Then ask away."

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Whatever Fenton thought his son was going to ask certainly wasn't that. The man took careful consideration of the question before he answered. "That depends Joe…will it help if I do?'

Again another vehement head nod. "Oh – most definitely!"

Fenton suddenly got a very strong feeling that maybe he should have started with Frank.

…

"Sam!" Dean dropped to his knees next to his prone brother, ignoring everything else as he tried to ascertain the problem. What had happened? Why was his brother out cold?

The circle of salt explained more than the unconscious teen – something supernatural had been here.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean demanded sharply, his eyes seeking out Laura and pinning her with a piercing gaze. _He was supposed to be safe here_, hung unspoken between them.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Laura said kneeling down next to him and reaching towards Sam. Her hand paused when he tensed. "We were attacked," her gaze dropped to the once again silent teen. "Sam had a plan—"

"Not a good one, apparently," the hunter spoke gruffly. The only reassurance he received was from the steadily thrumming pulse in the wrist beneath his fingers. Whatever was wrong with Sam wasn't life-threatening – at the moment anyway. "And?" he pressed, desperate for an answer so he could figure out how to fix this. As his father came into his peripheral vision he amended, so 'they' could figure out how to fix this.

"Dean?" John crouched down across from Sam, his dark eyes assessing his younger son. Never a man to waste words, Dean knew that one word held a floodgate of questions – the first being 'what the hell happened?'

Dean gave his head a subtle shake indicating he had no idea…yet.

"I was supposed to call you," Laura continued, ignoring John for the moment, "while Sam baited the wraith—"

"Damn," John growled, scrubbing a hand through his dark, unkempt hair. "It followed them," he added under his breath.

Laura's blue eyes flickered across to him and then she held out her hand to shake. "The father, I presume?"

John stared at her for a moment and then took the offered hand with unusual gentleness and fixed her with a smile that left no doubt of where Dean got his charm. "John Winchester. The Father."

"Laura Hardy," the woman countered, "The Mother—" she glanced up at where her sons were engaged in an animated conversation with their father just a few feet away, "of those boys."

"Nice house," John commented and then returned his attention to Sam; experienced fingers ghosted through his son's dark hair looking for injury. "You were saying? About the wraith?"

"Thank you," Laura returned without batting an eye. "And yes…the wraith. It never went after Sam – instead it cornered me in the kitchen," her pretty face became apologetic, "I'm sorry…I lost consciousness before I could see what happened." Her hand grazed over the burn on her neck.

"Stupid plan, little brother," Dean grumbled as he crouched back and then looked around the kitchen. "No sign of the thing now." His hazel eyes, dark with concern, locked on his father, relieved when John's hands remained bloodless; nothing broken there at least. In fact, except for a few more raw-looking burns, the most serious being on his hand, and some shallow, and obvious, glass cuts on his face and neck, the teen didn't seem to be any worse off than before. Certainly nothing that explained prolonged unconsciousness. "Sammy should be awake."

"I don't know if this means anything," the blond woman spoke up, eager to help, "but he screamed and started writhing around in pain a few minutes ago when I accidentally spilled salt on him." She frowned at the disapproving look Dean shot her. "It _was_ an accident," she defended herself.

John shot to his feet, cursing loudly. "Dean, get rope, we need to get your brother secured, NOW!"

"_What?"_ Laura cried out indignantly as she stood as well.

"Dad?" Dean questioned as he hesitated briefly, rising just a bit more slowly. He hadn't connected the dots quite as quickly as the veteran demon hunter.

"Dean. Rope. Now," John spoke through clenched teeth, obviously not pleased to be challenged.

Fenton blocked the younger hunter before he could leave the room; his 6'2" frame a formidable barrier that Dean wasn't sure he wanted to try and break through; especially as Frank and Joe stood behind their father.

'_Oh this could go oh so bad'_, he thought as his body prickled from the skyrocketing tension in the room.

"You want to tell me why you need rope?" Fenton asked, his tone cool. He stood in front of Dean but his eyes were locked firmly on John's.

"Move," the hunter growled, "you wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Fenton countered.

John snorted and shook his head slightly. He gritted the words out. "We don't have time for this."

"What I understand—" the detective explained calmly, dark eyes locked on dark eyes, muscles tensed, jaws tightened; alpha males vying for primal dominance under the guise of civility, "Is that that boy," he dared flicker a glance at Sam, "needs a hospital."

"He needs," John's voice dropped low, his words were slow and deliberate. "To be restrained." In one fluid movement, the hunter's gun was pointed directly at Fenton's forehead. "Now move…" The senior Winchester paused and then added, "Please."

Everyone in the kitchen froze. Not daring to move. No one knew whether or not John would actually fire on Fenton – not even Dean – and no one wanted to find out.

"Laura," John instructed, "sorry about this but can you move over with your sons?" He actually sounded apologetic.

The woman hesitated slightly as she looked down at Sam. And then she gave a little nod and quickly moved to stand between Frank and Joe.

…

"Dean," the man only spoke his son's name and the twenty-year old was gone out the back. Presumably to get rope.

"Where the hell did you get your parenting certificate?" Fenton growled, the first hint of anger showing, "Hitler's School for Fathers?"

The muscle in John's jaw tightened but when he spoke his tone was resigned. "You do what you have to for your family and I do what I have to for mine."

"Why rope?" Frank spoke up.

John's attention didn't shift from Fenton even as he answered the young man, "My son needs to be tied down before he can hurt himself or one of us."

"I don't understand," Laura shook her head. "He's already unconscious."

The hunter acquiesced with a nod and then sighed. "I know…" he paused and then added; each word heavy with an unspoken emotion. "But he won't be once we start the ritual."

"Ritual?" Joe's handsome young face was crinkled up in confusion. "What ritual?"

"The wraith that attacked you," John addressed Laura, "it didn't go anywhere." His jaw twitched. "It's inside Sammy…"

Dean hurried back into the kitchen with a long coil of thin, strong rope.

"We've got to exorcise him…"

Dean dropped the rope.

"Or kill him."

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

**Holy cow, I hadn't realized just how long this story had become. Wow. Anyways, never fear it is almost over :) just a couple of chapters left! I hope you enjoy this one! **

**Oh and wish me luck - by a fluke I found out where Supernatural is filming on Monday night and I am going to go and watch. Unfortunately the scene is being filmed in a bar, but I can hope to catch a glimpse of the boys when they leave, can't I? Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

"_The wraith that attacked you," John addressed Laura, "it didn't go anywhere." His jaw twitched. "It's inside Sammy…" _

_Dean hurried back into the kitchen with a long coil of thin, strong rope._

"_We've got to exorcise him…"_

_Dean dropped the rope._

"_Or kill him."_

**Chapter 28**

For a moment no one said anything, the weight of John's pronouncement hanging heavily like the death sentence it might very well be.

The Hardys were stunned and even Dean had paled, though he didn't look as shocked. Surprisingly, it was Laura who reacted first.

Eluding her sons' attempt to restrain her, Laura pushed herself between John's gun and Fenton, her hands on her hips and her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "No one will be killing anyone in my house," her tone warned as she addressed John specifically, "do you got that?"

"Dad…" Dean attempted to interfere, his fondness for the courageous woman making him want to ensure she didn't get shot. John quieted him with hardly a glance.

Fenton wrapped an arm around his wife and tried to pull her back but Laura fought him, her eyes never once leaving the armed man's face. "I said, 'do you got that'?" she repeated, more slowly this time.

Amusement warred with a much deeper emotion on John's face. He addressed Fenton. "Don't ever let her go," he said softly and then nodded to the petite woman. "I got that."

"Good," she asserted, "now do you want to put that gun down so we can talk about this like civilized people?"

John actually seemed to consider that – for a half a second. "Nope. Now if you'll behave like good little boys and girl, we'll get this over with quickly and be on our way."

"Dean," Joe implored the middle Winchester. His vibrant blue eyes begged the young hunter to stop this but Dean refused to look at him, preferring instead to lean down and pick up the rope again.

"This is insane," Fenton erupted, "you can't seriously be considering tying that boy up!"

John held his glare but didn't answer him, instead talking over his shoulder to his older son. "Secure your brother, Dean."

"You're crazy," Fenton barked and started to move towards John. The hunter fired into the wall behind him.

Laura smothered a small cry as both Frank and Joe flinched – badly startled by the noise and the unexpectedness of the shot.

"I don't have time for this crap," John growled impatiently. "Next shot ventilates…" He waited until he saw Fenton physically stand down and then he nodded, "Good. Now, Mr. Homeowner, drop your gun to the floor and kick it towards me – slowly. Laura," again another apologetic look, "move back with your sons please."

Behind them, Dean spoke softly to his brother, apologizing under his breath even as he quickly tied Sam's hands behind his back and then lashed his legs together. He tugged on the knots. They were tight.

"Circle of salt," John reminded, somehow knowing when his son had finished the bindings. He kicked the gun back towards Dean when Fenton complied.

Mutely the younger hunter followed the order.

"Does your basement have a back door or a window large enough to crawl out of?" the senior Winchester addressed Laura. Fenton opened his mouth to protest but John shook his head and repeated. "Laura? Does your basement have a back door or a window large enough to crawl out of?"

Laura shook her head. "No."

Satisfied with the answer, John tipped his head and just said, "Basement."

Understanding what the man wanted, Fenton ushered Laura and his sons' towards the basement door.

Joe paused as he passed the armed hunter. "Don't hurt him," his words were soft but beseeching, leaving no doubt that he considered the Winchester brothers as friends.

The muscle in John's jaw twitched and something akin to anguish washed across his face, gone quickly. He just gave a curt nod but promised nothing.

John followed Fenton to the door and then waited while the family went down the stairs before he closed it and then moved a chair in under the knob, effectively locking the Hardys in their own basement.

…

"Dad?" Frank questioned quietly, "Now what do we do?"

Fenton cast a furtive glance at the closed door. He frowned, his brow wrinkled in consideration and then he moved towards his wife. Laura was already rubbing her arms in the cool basement air and he pulled her close. "Now," he said, making a judgment call. "Now we wait."

It was nothing the astute detective could put his finger on, but there was just something about John Winchester that Fenton recognized in himself….And he hoped he was right because if he wasn't, Sam might just pay with his life.

…

Silently Dean watched over his brother as his father got the holy water and herbs they needed for the ritual. He didn't like this one bit. It went against his every instinct to see his brother trussed up…but as much as he hated it, he trusted his father more.

John would die for Sam. For either of them. And he would do everything within his power to save Sam. Dean knew that but it still chilled him to the very soul that Sam was in this position to begin with.

He never should have left his brother here. Exhaling loudly, the young man spoke wearily as he scrubbed at his face. "Trust you to fuck up 'normal…'"

"Dean," John's voice, suddenly loud beside him, jerked Dean's attention towards the older man. His father must have seen something past his son's stoic mask because his tone softened when he continued, "Ancient Latin or holy water?"

The younger hunter blinked in shock. His father was giving him the choice of what part of the ritual he wanted to handle? That was a first.

Normal protocol was that John dictated, Dean – or Sam – followed.

"Uh," he hedged for a moment and then blurted out, "holy water." If Sam got violent, which was most likely, Dean would rather be the one to restrain him. John hadn't seen Sam's bruised torso yet and could end up inadvertently further injuring him. That was what Dean told himself anyway. Though if he was honest, the young hunter would admit that he felt guilty for Sam being possessed in the first place, and was punishing himself with the much more emotionally difficult job as penance. He figured he owed the kid that much….

John nodded and passed the blessed vial to Dean.

Then after carefully sprinkling a meticulously selected and mixed assortment of herbs and wildflowers over Sam, John plucked a small black and badly worn notebook from his coat pocket and flipped it open to a dog-eared page.

His dark eyes lingered briefly over his youngest son and then he nodded to Dean. Holy water would start it.

Uncorking the vial, the young hunter dipped his fingers into the water and then crouched down next to his brother. He cast one final furtive glance up at his father and then quickly made the sign of a cross on his brother's forehead—

And so it began.

…

"I don't get it," Joe admitted as he paced restlessly in the large basement. Waiting didn't sit well with him.

"Get what?" Frank asked as he leaned back against an old workbench, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his normally active brother.

"What's up with Dean," the blond teen clarified. "He's like a completely different person with his father around!"

"Most boys are," Laura commented as her gaze flickered towards the closed door. She was pressed into Fenton's warmth as they stood next to Frank.

Joe glanced at her and then at his father. "We need to do something." He couldn't understand why Fenton was making them wait.

"My first priority is my family," the detective told his impetuous son.

"We're safe," the blond teen countered and ignored the amused look that his brother shot him as he teased:

"We need to work on your definition of 'safe', little brother."

"My second priority is finding out what has been happening since I've been gone."

Joe paled. "Oh, that."

"Yeah," Fenton's dark brown eyes tracked the seventeen year old. "That."

Frank smirked at his brother, obviously anticipating the impending joy of watching Joe squirm through another 'interrogation'.

"Frank?" the detective turned his attention towards his older son.

Joe cocked an eyebrow as all the blood drained from Frank's face—

"You want to tell me what's been going on?"

An earsplitting shriek answered.

…

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Dean cursed as Sam bucked and writhed away from him. As soon as he had touched his holy water-dampened fingers to his brother's forehead, the younger hunter had reacted, and Dean had actually forgotten just how strong a possessed person could be, until right now.

Shrieking, Sam struggled to get loose—

John started to read—

Dean used his full body weight to try and pin his brother—

John's voice rose over the commotion—

Sam's eyes flashed open. Seething red.

Dean recoiled. The intensity of hatred burned.

For one brief second, Sam's hazel eyes extinguished the red as the teen struggled to surface from beneath the wraith.

"Fight, damnit!" Dean yelled at his brother, encouraging Sam to resist. "Fight!"

John was shouting now—

Hazel eyes held an apology but before Dean could comprehend, the red was back and the hunter was being thrown through the air.

Dean heard his father shout his name, and then his head struck something hard and he was out.

His last thought was that they'd failed….His father would have to kill Sammy.

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

**I missed Jared and Jensen by TWO freakin' hours!!!!! If I had gotten there two hours earlier, I would have had an excellent view of them filming a bar scene for 2.19 - whatever that one is - because the bar has a glass front. I did get to watch them filming background scenes though... But I am sooo depressed now... I need to find some cheer me up fics to read!!**

**Hope you like the chapter anyways!**

**Close Encounters **

_Hazel eyes held an apology but before Dean could comprehend, the red was back and the hunter was being thrown through the air._

_Dean heard his father shout his name, and then his head struck something hard and he was out._

_His last thought was that they'd failed….His father would have to kill Sammy._

**Chapter 29**

Sam was in hell. Trapped inside the darkest places of his mind; shrouded by evil, oppressed by hatred.

The wraith was old and powerful – not bound by anything except its own whim and need for destruction. He could hear raspy whispering, verbally taunting and poking at his consciousness.

_Mine…mine… _

For reasons beyond the young hunter's comprehension, this ancient evil had been drawn to him and leeched itself onto the strength of his very soul.

Sam fought hard. He was a Winchester after all and that is what they did.

He cursed…

Screamed…

Bargained…

Begged…

Cried.

All to no avail.

The wraith still prickled and picked at him. Metaphysically shredding his 'light' and delighting in the pain it wrenched from his torture.

But for one brief moment the wraith, distracted by an outside influence, relaxed its hold—

That was all Sam needed.

Tearing his body from its grip, the teen flung his eyes open and saw Dean.

Hope flared! Dean – and Dad! They were both here!

But then he felt the power, like something ripped from his very lungs and had only a moment to try to warn…

Then the moment was gone.

And so was Sam.

…

"Shit!" The black book fell from his fingers as John flew to Dean's side and dropped heavily to his knees as the younger man's body hit the far wall and then bonelessly slid down into a heap.

Behind him Sammy was no longer writhing, just whimpering.

Whimpering wasn't a threat.

"Dean!" the man barked, hoping to order his son back to consciousness even as his calloused hands triaged Dean's scalp with surprising gentleness.

He winced when he found the rapidly rising lump. At least it wasn't bleeding. It wasn't much but right now John would take what he could.

Things were rapidly spiraling out of control….

John's analytical mind quickly ran scenarios but found no solutions.

"Damnit," he muttered, scrubbing his beard and exhaling loudly. This was not good. Not good at all.

Things were bad enough with Sammy being possessed, but now Dean was unconscious too?

Placing a hand on Dean's chest, the hunter consoled himself with the steady rise and fall of his older son's breathing, torn between two boys who both desperately needed him.

The idea of losing either was not acceptable to the man. They were what he fought for….

"Okay," the hunter stated, his decision made.

John stood and moved towards the barricaded basement door. He needed help.

Swallowing his pride, the hunter pulled the chair away….

His family came first.

…

Fenton Hardy stiffened when the door opened and John stood at the top of the stairs. He tried to read what had happened from the look on the man's face but couldn't. The hunter was as guarded as ever.

So the detective was surprised when John gruffly stated, "I need help." And was even more shocked when he looked directly at Fenton. "Yours…please."

For one moment the sleuth debated playing the hard ass but backed down. Instinctively he knew that this man was not one to easily ask anything of anyone. Let alone Fenton.

So instead he just sent Frank a look – silently putting his oldest in charge – and then nodded at John.

"As long as you're not planning on shooting me," he deadpanned, already moving towards the stairs.

John cleared his throat awkwardly and then rasped back. "Not right this second."

"Good," Fenton stated and followed the other man into the kitchen. "You owe me for a kitchen door, by the way," he added casually. Seeing Dean, he instantly moved towards the younger man. "What happened?"

"I don't have time to explain," John insisted, reaching down and picking up the black book. He held it out to Fenton. "How's your Latin?"

Fenton gave the other man a disbelieving look even as practiced fingers checked Dean's breathing. He was well versed in emergency first aid. "Excuse me?"

"Look. Here's the deal," the hunter explained quickly, "I need you to read the ritual while I make sure Sam doesn't get out of the restraints or circle of salt."

The man was decidedly crazy.

Opening his mouth to protest, Fenton was relieved to feel Dean stirring beneath his fingers. "My Latin sucks," he admitted, hoping to bring John to his senses about this or at least be the one 'restraining' the kid. Then he could exert some sort of control over Sam's safety. "I'll take guard duty."

"Too bad," John countered, his dark eyes cold, "no one touches Sammy except me or Dean."

Fenton was slightly taken aback by the possessive protectiveness in the other man's tone. It did a lot to alleviate any linger concerns he had about where this man's priorities might lie. He still figured John was crazy – but 'protective father' crazy, the detective could deal with.

"Fine," he conceded and took the book John was offering. He glanced over the text. "This isn't Latin—"

"Ancient Latin," John qualified. "It holds more power over old evil."

"Of course," Fenton humored.

"D-Dad," Dean's weak voice drew both men's attention to him. The detective moved aside to let John in as the hunter immediately crouched down.

"It's okay, son," John said, offering a brief smile.

"Sammy?" Dean tried to push himself up into a more concrete sitting position, wincing as he did so. His eyes sought out his brother.

"He'll be fine," the hunter assured his son and then glanced at Fenton, "We've got it covered."

The younger Winchester scrunched up his face – a mixture of pain, no doubt from a pounding headache, and confusion, most likely over the apparent buddy-hood that had sprung up between the two men during his unconsciousness…. "He's a cop," Dean managed as if that would somehow affect their 'relationship'.

"Ex-cop," Fenton found himself defending, as if being an officer of the law was a bad thing.

John gave him an odd look and then sighed and addressed his son again. "Well, no one's perfect." He stood up. "Stay here," he ordered Dean and then moved towards Sam.

Fenton rose also and hoped ancient Latin wasn't too different from what he'd learned in school…and then he shook his head. What was he thinking? It didn't matter since none of this was for real anyway…

'_Humor the nutcase_', he told himself and followed John's lead.

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

**Viola! Lookie, lookie - another chapter! I am hoping to have this finished in five more chapters. Oh and beware - my beta says I have a very nasty cliffhanger at the end... I'd apologize but we'd both know I'd be lying! Enjoy!! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

"_Ex-cop," Fenton found himself defending, as if being an officer of the law was a bad thing._

_John gave him an odd look and then sighed and addressed his son again. "Well, no one's perfect." He stood up. "Stay here," he ordered Dean and then moved towards Sam._

_Fenton rose also and hoped ancient Latin wasn't too different from what he'd learned in school… and then he shook his head. What was he thinking? It didn't matter since none of this was for real anyways…_

'_Humor the nutcase', he told himself and followed John's lead._

**Chapter 30**

A man watched from his hiding spot beneath the stairs of the Hardy basement.

So far he had been incredibly lucky and remained unseen, a dangerous spectator to a bizarre sequence of events.

Having snuck into the house earlier that day, he had spent the last couple of hours in hiding, waiting for his partner to make the 'delivery', one dead Hardy kid. And then he'd show himself, a power move proving once and for all just how vulnerable Fenton's family was. He'd warn the great detective that the next time he'd slit their throats while they were sleeping, and then he'd leave –

It was fail proof. Right up until the Hardys had gotten locked in their own basement…

Now he wasn't completely sure what to do. Both of Hardy's kids were here so the man knew something had gone wrong on his partner's end. Which meant, in all probability, he was on his own.

Good thing he had a gun, he decided, and – his eyes roved over the wife and sons' – his choice of hostages.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Read," John ordered, taking his place crouched down next to his unconscious son, his dark eyes locked firmly on Sam's face.

Fenton nodded and then cleared his throat, "Uh, hick me-hi… squalor… ego… uh… sum virus…"

John rolled his eyes. The dick was right. His Latin wasn't great. His ancient Latin was worse. He resisted the strong temptation to grab the text out of Fenton's hands and do it himself –

Dean beat him to the punch.

"Dear God," the twenty year old groaned as he pushed himself to his feet and weaved towards the reading detective. Fenton stopped and reached out to steady him, backing off when Dean glared. "Let me do it – with your pronunciation… you're more likely to summon the spirit of a seriously pissed off Pilsbury dough boy than you are to help my brother."

Fenton shrugged, gave the book to Dean and backed off.

John eyed him for a moment unsure if the man would try to take advantage of the situation, but when the sleuth just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Dean, silently challenging him to impress Fenton with his verbiage, he relaxed. Maybe somehow the other man understood… The hunter wasn't trying to hurt his son, he was trying to save him.

Dean cleared his throat, and although his stance was shaky, his words were firm and rolled off his lips as eloquent poetry. John couldn't resist stealing a glance at Fenton and saw the detective purse his lips and nod slightly in approval.

"_Hic mihi squalor. EGO sum vires quod vox quod EGO sum hic transmitto vos tergum ut atrum viscus ex quod vos have adveho…" _

Sam reacted almost immediately, throwing his head back and arching his body; a guttural growl ripped through his vocal chords –

**_MEI! LUX LUCIS EST MEI!_**

'_The light is mine?'_ John shook his head. _'What light?' _It didn't make sense.

Dean kept reading. _"In nomen of ancient Deus quisnam predates primoris malum EGO ordo vos dimitto. Absum!"_

…

Fenton watched the macabre drama unfolding in front of him in what was left of his kitchen and felt an odd sort of detachment… This couldn't be real.

He watched John try to keep his son under control as the teen writhed and wailed beneath him… the detective marveled at the strength of the kid –

Dean's words hummed around him strangely sedating his senses and detaching all rationale from… _this –_

The logical part of his mind told him to make his move now, while both Winchesters were occupied, but the other part – the inquisitive investigator – bade him to wait; to see this thing through. To trust his instincts.

And so Fenton waited and watched…

And so Fenton saw that Sam was loose first.

"Look out!" he shouted, springing into action as the teen's fist flew into his father's face, the force of the unexpected blow stunning John, knocking him back across the line of salt, creating a breach –

In one fluid unnatural movement, Sam was on his feet, the ropes pooling limply at his feet.

The sleuth met the teen head on.

Eyes pure black locked onto his and if Fenton had any doubts about whether or not Sam was possessed, they were liquefied by the pure evil that radiated from their depths.

Sam's lip curled in an angry snarl.

"Shit," Fenton swore, moving in to try and keep Sam in the circle, cursing himself for not paying more attention to where the box of salt was.

Behind him, the detective heard Dean pause, and then John shout, "keep reading", as Fenton faced off against the devil himself –

"You have no use for me," the guttural voice ground out. Its unnaturalness sent shards of ice through Fenton's soul. "Let me pass and you will live…"

Fenton snorted, "You have to got to be kidding me," he muttered in disbelief. This 'thing' spoke lines straight out of a B rated horror movie.

Dean's voice began to rise in volume –

"_In nomen of unus verus Deus , EGO exorcise vos…"_

John rose to his feet, holy water uncapped –

Sam narrowed his eyes –

Fenton felt a burning pain in his chest –

"_Vado tergum ut incendia of abyssus ex unde vos venit…"_

John threw the water –

Sam screamed. Flesh burned –

Fenton dropped to his knees. Pain. Nausea –

Dean snarled:

"_ABSUM! ABSUM! ABSUM! IN NOMEN OF JESUS SARCALOGOS…."_

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"_Amen." _

Sam collapsed. Boneless. To the floor.

Dean rushed forward to grab him but John snagged his hand. "No Dean," he warned. "Wait!"

Fenton, shocked, watched as Sam's body arched back one more time, his jaws locked open in a silent scream. A cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth.

"Christo," John murmured, exhaustion weighting the word.

The smoke dissolved. The whole thing was rather anticlimactic…

For one long moment no one moved and then Sam's eyes slowly opened –

Hazel eyes, confused and pain filled, roved across the faces of the three pale men standing over him, finally locking on his older brother's.

He opened his mouth to say something and then gasped and started coughing, a painful sounding dry bark. Dean didn't wait for his father's permission, he pulled free of the older man and dropped down next to his distressed sibling, helping him sit up and letting Sam lean back against him.

Sam fisted his hands into Dean's shirt and twisted, burying his face against his brother's chest. Silent sobs wracked his hurting body.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, "it's gone. You're safe now, little brother, I promise you, you're safe…"

Fenton swallowed hard at the unexpected tenderness in the young man's voice as he comforted his brother. His eyes burned as he thought about his own sons.

"Hey," John's gruff voice drew his attention to the other man.

John held out a hand and after a brief hesitation Fenton let him pull Fenton to his feet. With the wraith gone, the burning pain in his chest was reduced to a dull throb. A reminder. A smack in the face of reality.

"You okay?" the other man asked when Fenton absently rubbed at his aching sternum.

Numbly the detective just nodded. His voice was devoid of any emotion. "I guess I didn't just dream all this, huh?"

John cocked his head and eyed his paternal counterpart. "Well that depends," he said after a moment, "in your dream… did I have to pay you for the door?"

Fenton stared at him for a very long moment and then snorted and shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

"Then unfortunately, Mr. Ex-cop, I can honestly say. This ain't no dream." John stopped and then added, his brown eyes shining with sincerity, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Fenton replied graciously and then after a brief hesitation, he held out his hand to the other man. "By the way, I don't think we've been properly introduced," he managed a smile, "Fenton Hardy."

John shook the offered hand, "John Winchester."

"Well ain't this sweet," a nasty voice sneered from behind them.

Instantly, John turned to the new threat, both him and Fenton moving to stand between it and the younger Winchester's –

A man neither had seen before stood at the top of the stairs, having opened the basement door during the commotion…

Fenton felt his heart stop.

The man held a very sharp looking knife to Laura's throat.

"I do hate to interrupt," the man continued, unfazed by the two threatening looking men standing in front of him, "but I have a message to deliver to Fenton Hardy."

"I'm Fenton," the detective moved ahead slightly. "Let her go!"

"I can't," the man sounded apologetic, "cause she's the message," and then moved the knife across Laura's throat…

TBC


	31. Chapter 31

**Close Encounters **

"_I do hate to interrupt," the man continued, unfazed by the two threatening looking men standing in front of him, "but I have a message to deliver to Fenton Hardy."_

"_I'm Fenton," the detective moved ahead slightly. "Let her go!"_

"_I can't," the man sounded apologetic, "cause she's the message," and then moved the knife across Laura's throat…_

**Chapter 31**

Frank struggled furiously with the rope that bound him and Joe to a support beam in the middle of the basement. He berated himself for not checking out the basement, ignoring the ludicrousness of the chastisement, because, really, why would he have? It was the Hardys' own basement and they had no reason to believe anyone was hiding out there – especially since he and Dean had checked it out last night. But assumption turned its ugly head on them as, armed to the teeth, a hidden man neutered both him and Joe in one fluid movement… with a gun.

Laura had been forced to tie her sons up and then the man had taken her.

Now he and Joe frantically worked the knots, knowing their mother had not tied them tightly and hoped they could get free in time to make a difference.

Desperation flaring –

Wrists burning –

Sweat beading –

One of the knots loosened.

…

The world seemed to slow down as John Winchester watched the blade of the knife across Laura's throat –

_Blood spilled across a white nightdress –_

_Golden hair, her halo in death –_

_Flames on the ceiling –_

_A mother dying._

_His wife._

_Mary. _

"NO!" the primal roar that ripped from John's throat stuttered the knife for one precious second… but that was all the seasoned killer needed.

In one fluid movement, John's gun was up and fired.

He never paused to aim.

His shot would be true. It always was.

For one paralyzed second nothing happened and then the impact knocked the man back, his eyes already sightless; his life already gone before he hit the floor.

The knife dropped harmlessly with a clatter. It's lethalness castrated by a killing shot. A head shot. The man never stood a chance. The bullet had hit right between the eyes.

John Winchester would have accepted no less.

And then the world picked up speed again…

"Laura!" Fenton cried out, moving to engulf the shocked woman and pull her in close.

"Mom!" Frank burst out of the basement door, almost tripping over the dead man. Joe slammed into him, almost bringing them both down. They saw their parents and relief ripened their features.

Their mom was safe.

John lowered his weapon, his heart heavy. Yes, he had saved Laura Hardy but it did nothing to bring his Mary back. Sighing deeply he turned to his own sons – her children, Mary's babies – confident that Fenton would see to his own.

Dean's eyes were wide, his face pale. He looked twelve and John's heart ached just a little more. _Where had that little boy gone? _

And Sammy had yet to acknowledge him at all…

Crouching down awkwardly John reached out and laid a hand on his younger son's shoulder, gently squeezing. He felt the boy tremble beneath his touch and his heart broke.

He heard Dean murmuring comfort to his little brother again and John hated himself. _What kind of life was this for his children? For him? For anyone?_

Sitting back on his heels in the destroyed kitchen of an old Victorian house that reeked of the 'American dream', it occurred to John that the Hardy family was the antithesis of his own – Fenton, Laura, Frank and Joe painfully represented the Winchester's 'apple pie' life that burned up, along with all of their dreams, that night in Sammy's nursery… and it made him physically ill.

John removed his hand from his son's shoulder and scrubbed it across his face. _What kind of life was this for them?_ He thought about his beautiful young wife again. _It was the safest one he had to offer._

Ignorance had cost him Mary.

It would not cost him his sons. And if illuminating darkness was what it took? Then so be it.

Rising to his feet, John looked down at Dean. "Get your brother moving, Dean," he ordered gruffly. "We're leaving."

…

Hearing John, Fenton looked down at his wife, in silent inquisition. Laura offered a weak smile and a nod of her head – she was okay.

The detective gave her one more reassuring squeeze, more appreciative than she could ever know that she was his, and then released her and turned to John.

"We need to talk," this time it was Fenton giving the order and he never waited for an acknowledgment from John, just pushed his way through the revolving kitchen door on his way to the living room. He knew the other man would follow.

He was not disappointed.

Fenton stopped in the middle of the living room and just shook his head. What a mess. Broken glass everywhere.

The curtains billowed in the slight breeze and for the first time, the great detective noticed just how cold it was in the house. John stood next to him and followed his gaze out the damaged windows.

Fenton absently wondered how long it was going to take for him and the boys to board them up. They'd have to go to the hardware store first…

He couldn't even begin to think about what to say on the insurance claim.

"We aren't so different," the detective finally spoke, his gaze still directed forward, "you and I."

John didn't say anything.

"Well, except that you're a complete nutcase…" he deadpanned and more felt than saw the small smile and shake of the head from John. "A nutcase with damn good aim."

"I've been known to have a good day," the other man finally spoke.

Fenton cast a sidelong glance at him. For all the differences he saw between them – his own clean shaven face contrasted with John's more rugged features – he felt an odd sort of kinship with him. A kinship of heart.

They both had families that they would die for – or kill for. And in this case John had killed for Fenton's family.

"I have no idea what the hell happened here today," the detective admitted, sighing wearily, "and based on Joe's odd question to me earlier, and what just went on with your son, I have no idea if I'll ever understand – but…" he stopped and snorted, running a hand through his hair and huffing loudly, "What is the deal with the salt?"

At that John laughed; his turn to snort. Instead of answering though he posed his own question, "What did Joe ask you?"

"He asked if I believed in ghosts," Fenton admitted easily, his dark brown eyes fixed on the other man's face now, watching him carefully and trying to read him. It was proving to be difficult.

John cocked an eyebrow, his voice rang with amusement, "And do you?"

Fenton thought about that for a few moments before answering and when he did, he surprised himself. "I don't know anymore."

The other man pursed his lips and seemed to accept that answer.

"I still need to report this," the detective vaguely indicated the kitchen. "The shooting part anyway…"

"The wraith would be a lot harder to explain," John agreed.

Fenton made a decision. He turned to fully face John and held out his hand. "Give me your gun." He waited a heartbeat and then added. "It'll be easier that way to say I'm the one who killed that bastard."

Visible wariness crept across John's face as he held Fenton's gaze, his eyes searching for something. The detective held the look, fighting not to flinch beneath its dangerous intensity. There was no doubt that this man was a killer – but not one Fenton felt he, or any of them, needed to fear.

"And if I don't?" John finally challenged, but there was no heat behind the words.

"Well, if you don't," Fenton shrugged nonchalantly, "I'll have to make you pay for the door."

The hunter stared down at his gun for a moment and then without another word passed it to the detective.

Fenton took the gun, wiped it in his shirt and then held it in both hands for a moment before he shoved it into the waistband of his pants.

He glanced back at John, "You never answered me about the salt."

The muscle in John's jaw twitched – _was he smiling?_

"You're right," the demon hunter admitted, he turned away from Fenton and started back towards the kitchen, "I didn't."

TBC


	32. Chapter 32

**Well folks finally, after this chapter, there is only an Epilogue left. Thank you for all your comments and support! Phoenix**

**Close Encounters **

_Fenton took the gun, wiped it in his shirt and then held it in both hands for a moment before he shoved it into the waistband of his pants._

_He glanced back at John, "You never answered me about the salt."_

_The muscle in John's jaw twitched – was he smiling?_

"_You're right," the demon hunter admitted, he turned away from Fenton and started back towards the kitchen, "I didn't."_

**Chapter 32**

Sam was in pain. It felt like his whole body was on fire. The worst of it seemed to be concentrated in his hand and his head.

His body shook as he sobbed; his mind only having just regained control, left him feeling violated and confused. Instinctively he sought comfort and buried himself in the safety of his brother's lap. And Dean just let him.

That in itself was disconcerting. That and the fact that the twenty-year-old seemed to be holding on just as tight…

Soft murmuring ghosted through his hair and tickled his hearing, weaving through and around his turbulent mind with familiar certainty. Slowly Sam began to calm down, Dean's words reigning in his emotions, grounding him.

…_S'okay little brother… it's okay… _

And he knew it was.

Dean and their father were here and they would never let anything bad happen to Sam.

Safe in that knowledge and buoyed by his brother's display of affection, the teenager slowly pulled away, his red rimmed hazel eyes locked onto the greener pair looking down at him.

"You know, kid," Dean's voice was strangely husky and Sam had the unsettling feeling that his big brother was on the verge of tears. That scared him. Dean never cried. "That plan of yours." Sam's eyes widened in memory, "Yeah that one. It sucked the big one!" Huskiness was replaced with anger. "You know better than that! Dad – hell I taught you better than that!"

"I had to do something…" Sam's voice was hoarse and sore, an after affect of expelling the wraith. He implored his brother to understand, unleashing the 'puppy dog' eyes, even more potent against the backdrop of bruises and tears that Sam offered up. "I had to warn you… I couldn't just let you guys walk in on that… you might have gotten hurt!"

Dean huffed and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. Sam fought the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he actually felt the anger melt away from his brother. When the older hunter was once again looking at him, Sam offered the smile as brightly as he could. "I think I caught your hero complex." The whole effect would have gone off better if he hadn't started coughing, once again reminded that he was still sick on top of everything else.

"You are absolutely pathetic," Dean muttered as he slowly extricated himself from Sam, wincing as he did so. "Now c'mon, Samantha, Dad wants us good to go."

"Wait," Sam twisted away, his eyes searching until he saw Laura standing a few feet away, with Frank and Joe. She smiled when she saw him looking at her and crossed the distance between them, crouching down next to the brothers.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Laura asked softly, her hand reached out to brush the hair out of his eyes, but paused as she glanced towards Dean. Sam got the impression she was asking permission. He felt Dean nod and then Laura smiled and touched his face.

Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The tenderness this woman offered him actually hurt. He forced them back open and offered a weak smile, "I'm okay," he watched the amused look on her face as the woman snorted softly and shook her head. Clearly she didn't believe him. Sam diverted the attention away from himself. "How about you? Are you okay?" He saw the burn and his heart filled with sadness. "I'm sorry," he whispered immediately before she could answer. Sam had tried to protect her.

The woman's hand fluttered to the burn even as she gave him a chastising look. "You saved me, Sam. Don't apologize for that."

Behind him, Sam heard his brother huff something in agreement and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Dean and Laura were a lot alike… He chuckled as the image of his brother in high heels and a cooking apron assaulted his mind.

That was better then seeing his fist knock his father across the room. Sam blanched.

"Ah. Dean," he asked hesitantly. "When I was – ah – possessed, did I – umm – did I hit Dad?"

Dean started to laugh and then groaned in pain and raised a head to his obviously still aching head. "Yup, kiddo, you did. Right after you threw me across the room."

Sam suddenly wished he could curl up and die. "Oh, man," he whispered, his eyes wide in horror. "I'm sooo dead…"

"Don't fret yourself over it, little man," Dean teased. Sam never saw the humor glint in his eyes as he winked at Laura, "I'm sure Dad'll come up with way for you to atone. As for me? I'm seeing a very clean car in the near future… chrome shining, leather softened – the whole nine yards."

"I hate you," Sam grumbled and then slowly started to move. This was going to hurt.

"I know you do," Dean grinned as he used the wall for support and then held out his hand to help Sam. "I hate you too."

…

Behind them Joe grinned and elbowed Frank. "Awwww…. Brothers after my own heart," he teased.

Frank gave him a disbelieving look. "You want me to tell you how much I hate you too?"

"Nah," the blond teen denied. "I know ya love me. I can see it in your eyes." He teased. "I'm the baby, gotta love me!"

"Oh brother," Frank bit his lip to keep from laughing at his impetuous sibling. "Someone save me."

"It's okay, Frank," Joe continued as they watched Dean help Sam up, "I don't think any less of ya."

"You're incorrigible," the older Hardy muttered and then moved to help their friends when he saw Sam stagger. Dean was looking a bit unsteady himself and it made the young sleuth wonder what all had happened while he and his family were locked in the basement.

Dean did say something about being thrown into a wall. Frank was almost afraid to ask how Sam had managed that since the kid had been unconscious the last time he'd seen him.

"Hey," Frank reached out a hand towards Dean when the hunter swayed slightly. "You guys need a hand?"

Dean opened his mouth and the eighteen year old was sure it was to blow them off when Joe interrupted, deftly snagging Sam's arm and sliding a supportive hand around the younger Winchester's waist. He ignored the death glare Dean gave him. "Nah, of course they don't, Frank. What are you thinking? But personally I can barely walk. C'mon Sam, can you give me a hand?"

The younger Winchester gave him a lopsided grin, obviously picking up on Joe's ploy. "No problem… just don't let go, okay?"

Joe pulled him away from Dean, and Frank was relieved that the older hunter didn't protest, further testimony to two things: first, that he trusted Joe and Frank, and second, that he was hurting worse than he let on.

"Don't worry, Sam," Frank heard his brother assure the younger boy softly, "I won't."

The four boys made their way to the living room almost running into John Winchester who was on his way to the kitchen.

He quickly took in both Sam and Dean's conditions and swore lightly under his breath. Behind him, Fenton was on the phone reporting the 'break in'.

…

"Can you drive?" John demanded, looking at Dean. He knew the younger man had hit his head and lost consciousness briefly and wasn't too keen on having Dean driving if he was concussed. And Sam was very obviously not in any shape for anything. Hell, he still needed to be looked at. The burn on his hand needed to be wrapped for sure.

"Yes, sir," Dean's autopilot response did nothing to assuage the guilt John was feeling for even asking.

"Yeah," he said gruffly, "I'm sure you are."

"Excuse me."

John looked at the dark haired teen who had spoken. Frank, if he remembered correctly. He raised an eyebrow at the youngster. "Why don't you wait a couple of hours before taking off? They," he tipped his head towards Sam and Dean, "could get cleaned up and grab a couple hours of sleep or something." John glared at him but Frank, to his credit didn't back down. "It makes more sense then trying to leave now. Dean's in no shape to drive, unless you don't mind him using a telephone poll or little old lady to stop on."

The room got deathly silent – even Fenton had finished on the phone.

John was impressed by the young man's audacity but he refused to let it show. He purposefully glared at Frank for a few long moments, drawing out the suspense and then, without breaking eye contact spoke quietly. "No. Boys get your stuff…" He paused for dramatic effect and then added, "I'm going to give these people a hand boarding up those windows and then we're out of here." He glanced down at his watch, "Be ready to leave in a couple of hours."

…

Frank gave a relieved nod of his head. Beside him, Joe marveled as John moved towards the shattered windows, and pulled a tape measure out of his coat pocket. "Whoa big brother, for a second there I thought you were a gonner."

"Me too," Frank admitted, his brow crinkled in surprise. He looked at Dean. "Does your father always carry a tape measure with him?"

Dean stared at his father first and then looked at Frank, obviously in shock over what had just happened. He never answered the question, but his pale face suddenly broke into a wide grin and he slapped the older Hardy, hard, on his back. He shook his head and Frank decided that speechlessness was a goofy look on the older Winchester.

"Dean," Sam's voice was quiet. The other three young men looked at him. "I think Dad's possessed…"

That made Dean laugh and it was such a hearty sound that both Frank and Joe joined in – though they didn't quite get the 'joke'.

"Nope, Sammy, he's not possessed," Dean assured a few moments later once he got his laughter down to a snicker. "That's your gig. Now if you don't mind, I'd really like to go lie down for a bit. I think I hear the call of a million little psychotic dolls…"

Sam turned to Joe, little brother to little brother. "Joe," he asked, "Do you mind if I lie down in _your_ room?"

…

In the kitchen Laura opened a drawer and pulled out a large red and white checkered table cloth. With a flick of her wrist, she had it open and covered the dead man.

The blond woman turned around and almost tripped over the discarded and now empty box of salt. She smiled and bent over to pick it up.

'_Mental note to self,_' she thought, '_must buy more salt_.'

Placing the box on the counter, she started the arduous task of cleaning up.

**Concluded in the Epilogue...**


	33. The Epilogue

**_Wow. Finally. Here is is. The Epilogue. I hope you have enjoyed this story. I certainly enjoyed combining my favorite two sets of brothers. Joe Hardy has informed me though that I will need to do another crossover because I promised he'd get to drive the Impala in this one, and it never happened, lol! So we'll see... I have to finish 'A Great Fall' first :) Thank you to everyone who has continued to read and support me through this story. And as always, thank you Red Hardy_**

**_I hope you enjoy the ending. _**

**_Love Phoenix_**

**Close Encounters **

**The Epilogue**

Sam Winchester lay quietly in the dimly lit motel room, the sound of his brother's even breathing as Dean slept in the bed next to him kept the younger hunter in a lulled state of semi-consciousness. A safe place between sleeping and wakefulness… Neither here but neither there either…

Across from them Sam heard the soft rustling sounds of cloth polishing gun metal; the disturbingly reassuring sound of hands on a barrel, intent on ensuring their dangerous task. His father, sitting on the edge of his own bed, was very obviously still awake too.

While other Dads read before bed, Sam's cleaned arsenal. He absently wondered why this didn't really bother him…

The young man slowly turned his head so he could see his father – a task made somewhat difficult by his brother's bulk. Dean, as per usual, insisted on squishing Sam in against the wall, effectively placing himself solidly between his younger brother and the door. It was habit that neither noticed, bred from a life time of uncertainty; as ingrained in them as locking the windows and doors in suburbia.

John's face was fixed as he carefully cleaned the weapons, seemingly lost in thought and the sixteen year old found himself wondering what his father was thinking about.

Was he concentrating on the task at hand?

Or recalling some piece of obscure knowledge that might someday mean the difference between their lives and their deaths?

Was he rethinking the events of today? Yesterday? _Sixteen years ago? _

Or maybe plotting a suitable punishment for his son punching in him the face? _Possession is a lame ass excuse, boy_, Sam could almost hear his father reprimand…

He really had no idea what thoughts cast the shadows across his father's face as the older man's hands moved with hurried skill.

The experienced hunter was an enigma, even to his sons…

As if sensing he was being watched, John lifted his head and locked eyes with his youngest. The contemplative look quickly schooled away and replaced with something more. "You still awake?" he asked gruffly, purposely keeping his voice low so it wouldn't wake Dean. A lifetime of living in close quarters muted the young hunter's senses to his family's low murmuring.

Sam knew the question was Dad-speak for 'are you okay?'

"Can't sleep," the teen admitted. "My mind won't stop."

A soft chuckle and the sound of shifting material heralded the older man as he stood up and moved towards his sons. He placed the gun he was cleaning on the table and then wiped his hands off on his jeans. "Your mind won't stop thinking… or hurting?" he inquired.

Sam paused. Both really… but he was a Winchester and Winchester's only admitted to hurting if they were hanging off Death's door. So he sucked it up and said, "Thinking."

John gave him an odd look and the teen knew his father didn't believe him. But the older man didn't press it. Instead he asked, "What'cha thinking about?"

"Mom," the word was out before the younger hunter even thought about it and immediately he cringed, hating the instantaneous flash of pain that changed his father's face. He tried to backpedal, "I'm sorry," he mumbled, shame-faced and unsure why he had said that. He actually hadn't been thinking of his mother at all… or at least he didn't think he had been.

"Don't apologize for thinking about your Mom," the words were hard and Sam winced. On the bed next to him, Dean stirred –

His father must have noticed his reaction – maybe even felt bad – because when he spoke again, his voice was much softer. Calmer. "It's okay to think about her. I've been thinking about her tonight too… and missing her." The last part was spoken so softly Sam was sure he wasn't meant to hear.

"I wish I could remember her," the teen admitted, his courage buoyed by his father's candidness. He tried to keep his voice steady as his body trembled lightly in anticipation of a conversation he and his father had never had…

John moved away from them and sat down heavily on his own bed. He kicked off his boots and stretched out, lying on his back, his hands folded beneath his head as he gazed up at the ceiling. Sam felt his heart sink. His father had shut down –

And then John surprised him.

"You're a lot like your Mom," his father's words startled him. Sam had truly thought the conversation was over and held his breath in anticipation, terrified that if he made any movement or noise the older man _would_ shut down. "Not so much in looks. That's Dean… But in mannerisms and the way you think and feel about things. Yeah… you're all your Mom…" He paused and then added, his gaze still firmly fixed on the ceiling, "She'd be proud of you boys, Sammy, very proud… you did good out there today." He rubbed his jaw ruefully, "All things considered."

Sam couldn't help but smile as his vision blurred. He swallowed hard, unsure whether the surge of emotion was from hearing his mother would be proud… or that his father was.

"Dad," the teen suddenly blurted out, in desperate need of absolution, "I'm sorry..."

His father slowly turned his head and pushed up on his elbows, his eyes appraising. Even in the dim lighting Sam could see their burning intensity. For a moment he didn't spoke and the apology hung between them like forest smoke after a fire. And then he sighed and lay back down. "You've got nothing to apologize for… Now get some sleep, Sam, we got a long day ahead of us."

And they did. A six hour drive back to the small house John had been renting since August, and then it was back to school for the teenager, back to the hunt for John, and something in between for Dean.

Nodding sleepily, the boy felt his eyes close only to have a tickle in his chest morph into a coughing fit. _That_ roused Dean.

"For the love of God," the older brother grumbled, rolling over and squinting at Sam, "cough up the lung already, will'ja? A body this fine needs its sleep!"

Sam tried to glare but the look lost its effectiveness given the battered state of his face. So he settled for a pathetic groan, instead, as he wrapped an arm protectively around his torso and tried to settle down.

Dean sighed dramatically and then pushed off the blankets and stood up. His father and younger brother watched in amusement as he made a huge production out of scavenging for something in his duffle bag. Finally with a cry of 'about friggin' time', he tossed the item towards the bed and explained. "Parting gift from Mrs. Hardy."

It was a full bottle of cough medicine.

The youngest Winchester picked it up and fingered the bottle for a moment, his eyes again once tearing up. Blinking quickly before his brother could see and torment the living life out of Sam about it, Sam smiled.

"I think she likes me," Dean decided as he snatched a spoon off the table, wiped it on the blanket and then held it out expectantly to Sam. "She was obviously thinking about the importance of me getting a good night's rest."

"Yeah, well," the teen returned cheekily, "you can use every ounce of beauty sleep you can get."

An interrupting 'ahem' from John stopped Dean's hand in mid-retaliation, saving Sam from a clip across the side of his head.

Dean turned around, gave his father a disarming grin and then leaned down so that his lips almost brushed Sam's ear.  
"Enjoy it while you can, cause come tomorrow, kiddo, you are mine! Just you, me and my car – for six whole hours." The hunter perked up considerably. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!"

Sam blanched. Death by mullet rock…

"Ah Dad," he asked ignoring the now waving spoon, "Can I ride with you?"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Gertrude Hardy, a matronly woman in her mid sixties slowly picked her way up the front steps and towards the front door of her younger brother's old Victorian house. She had had a wonderful holiday visiting Eunice, an old friend who had recently retired to Florida and insisted 'Gertie' visit, but now she was glad to be home. Although the biting fall chill that cut through her knitted sweater and nipped at her bones made her seriously consider recalling the taxi.

However, she missed her family and was very happy to be back.

Stopping at the doorway, she frowned as she saw the boarded up windows and wondered what kind of hi-jinxes her spirited nephews had been up to. She shook her head reprovingly. While she loved Frank and Joe dearly, Gertrude considered her brother and sister-in-law too lenient on the boys and apparently without her stern influence, things had gone to 'hell in a hand basket'.

Tsk. And windows were so expensive these days…

"Boys," she muttered, fishing out her key and deftly unlocking the front door. No need to wake anyone up. Moving with a swiftness that belied her earlier motions, Gertrude crossed to the house alarm and quickly unarmed it.

Exhaling in the relief of being home, the woman carried her bag towards her room. Florida was hot so she had traveled light.

Pushing open the room door, Gertrude walked inside, dropped her bag on the floor and then sank down gingerly on her bed. Her hemorrhoids were acting up again, not having taken too kindly to the airplane seats.

"There's no place like home," she sighed, her dark brown eyes roving fondly over the little painted faces of her porcelain doll collection. And then she frowned –

Someone was missing.

_Where was Horace, her most precious little clown doll? _

Pushing herself to her feet again, Gertrude left the room no longer concerned about waking the house as she called out, _"Joe! Frank! Which one of you has been playing with my dolls?"_

…

Underneath the bed in the downstairs guestroom, lying amid dust bunnies and a missing slipper, sightless painted on eyes stared unblinking up at the bedsprings –

And as the sound of two indignant nephews filled the house, the acrylic smile on the face of the porcelain clown twitched…

_Mine._

**The End**


End file.
